#anyway. here's hoping this is worded and structured well enough to do what I need it to

[bookwyrminspiration]

if I asked very nicely would you all be willing to take a one minute anonymous survey for my linguistics class. if the answer is yes, please click here. thanks :)

(sharing for a better response size would also be very appreciated)

[lovely-parasite-04]

Iced Coffee, Detective?

Agnes!Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Prologue

Part 1

SUMMARY: Y/N makes it to Agatha's house expecting an hour or two of entertainment and instead finds herself in more "trouble" than she prepared for.

WARNINGS: Mention of a gun, Agatha being Agatha

NOTE: This was a long time coming, lol. I got a lot more interaction than expected, and I was so excited! However, for the longest time I didn't know where to take my little blurb and had this part halfway finished just collecting dust. I also was feeling partially guilty for picking this back up when I have scholarship essays to write but heehee oh well that will happen when it happens. ANYWAY I hope you enjoy and if you have thoughts, feel free to share :)

Walking through the neighborhood to get to Agatha's house, I made it a point to avoid looking at the plot of land Wanda Maximoff had decided to take over during her time here. There was no longer a house there, and the concrete foundation that was left had graffiti all over it. I think it's the first of anything I have seen vandalized in Westview. Despite the words overlapping and being hastily spray painted onto the small structure, I didn't need to know what it was all about; there was nothing nice written in all that mess about the Scarlet Witch or her actions in Westview.

Agatha's lovely house was to the right.

  It was a very cozy house on the outside, with beautifully green bushes almost blocking the front windows and what looked like the outside of a bay window to the left of the door. Overall the property looked shockingly plain to hold someone so...not plain. Who knows what I would find on the inside.

  What was I even doing here, anyway? I don't have to be here. There was absolutely no obligation to follow through with Agatha's summoning. She would have forgotten about it soon enough. But now I'm in front of her door after my shift to...what? To be questioned about someone - who I'm certain is imaginary - I lied about knowing? To entertain Agatha and then in turn myself? To maybe get a little insight on this curse of hers? To see her play "bad cop" with no "good cop" to save me?

  Jesus, just knock on the door.

  I raised my hand, shaking my loud-ass thoughts away and deciding to wing it. Suddenly the door swings open and I almost "assault an officer." Agatha catches my fist before it lands in her face, "Woah! Watch out there, kid." Her hair was still up but a little rattier like she'd just been napping - if her clothes were anything to go by. A Star Trek T-shirt that's two sizes two big, velvet sweatpants, and purple fuzzy socks.

  I couldn't help a giggle escape me and I blurted out, "Did you just wake up?"

  "You were supposed to call before you came in. I could have been out following a lead, or in a meeting."

  "Oh, lucky timing I guess." Right. Stick to the script. Even if you don't have a copy of said "script" for yourself. This would be an actor's worst nightmare.

  I have to clear my throat to remind her she's still got my wrist held above my head, and then I swallow at the thought.

  "Seriously though, the door is glass. You didn't need to knock." She drops my wrist and immediately turns on her heel into her house - I swear I see her start to yawn, but then maybe being under the spell is exhausting. I know after the town was liberated, I stayed in my bed for days just recovering. The door was definitely not glass, so she must have heard me pull into her driveway and watched me through the window. At least now I have a little clue to what she thinks her "prescient" looks like. An office with a glass door. Neat.

  I mentally smack myself knowing now that she watched me stare at her door for so long. I can't be embarrassed for too long though, because entering Agatha's house was like entering a new world - and not one I expected. The dark wood and light green walls gave an earthy cozy feel to the living room and the sofa looked old and comfy. I catch sight of a wall covered in random pictures of grass and flowers with red yarn connecting them every-which-way. Agatha pulls a funky looking arm chair up to her coffee table, gesturing for me to sit on the sofa. I comply - I was right about the couch - and I notice the head of a garden hose lying on the table in front of me.

  "Sorry," Agatha takes it and puts it into the side of her pants? "There shouldn't be any need for that, right?"

  No way that's what she's using for a gun.

  "Um...no, ma'am."

  "Great. Goooood." She smacks her lips and pulls a Manila folder out of nowhere, switching it between her hands almost to taunt me. Her eyes haven't left me since I arrived. "We'll get to this in a second. First, tell me about how you knew the girl."

  Uh-oh.

  My hands were suddenly damp and I did my best to rub them off on my own pants, looking around as if that'd give me a clue to what my relationship was with this fake victim. Then I remembered the pictures of flowers on the wall. "I-We were gardeners. Together. We gardened together...all the time."

  Agatha's eyes squinted and her lips pursed, "Interesting." That was the worst lying I had ever done, but how could she not believe me? Wouldn't her mind just make something up to go with her narrative anyway? "How did you two meet? Garden club?"

  "Sure."

  "Oh really? And who else was in this club? Probably a bunch of other old ladies."

  "Woah. Rude."

  "Moving on." She suddenly stands and drops the file she had in her hands and I choke on air as she bends over to pick it up. The velvet sweatpants she's wearing have the word "Naughty," bedazzled on the butt. This is definitely entertaining. If someone knocked me out right now and woke me back up to tell me I dreamed all of this, I'd believe them. She whips back around and offers the file to me, "Let's take a look at this file, huh? Sound like fun?"

  Fun. For sure.

  I take the file from her hand, now unable to take the image of her bedazzled ass out of my mind, while she circles the couch and leans over my shoulder. I'm perfectly still as I feel her cheek a hair away from mine. I can smell her shampoo, I think. It's mostly a clean smell with a small floral hint to it.

  Great. Now I'm taking in the notes of her scent. I can't fall for the town hero/cook/ancient witch. What would that make me? The idiot? Definitely some sort of idiot. Then it hits me that she is unfortunately exactly my type: older, brunette, and a little deranged. I'm toast.

  "Go ahead." She whispers in my ear. Dear god. "No need to be scared. There's nothing in there you can't handle."

  Taking a deep breath, mainly to slow down my now rapid heartbeat, I open the file. Inside are some bills addressed to someone named Ralph Bohner - tragic last name - and a couple blank papers. I pretend to take it in but have no idea where to go from here, so I look back at Agatha. Big mistake. Her mouth is now a hair away from my mouth.

  My neck nearly breaks from how far and fast my head shoots back, and I guess Agatha thinks she startled me because she chuckles before standing straight again. "Just as I thought..." What? What does that mean?

She comes around the couch and her hands are shaped into finger-guns with her two index fingers pressed against her lips in a thoughtful manner. Until she's leaning over me, her arms supporting her weight against the back of the couch on either side of my head. Her face is centimeters away from mine. I know I'm blushing but I'm praying to whatever's out there that she can't see the red under that spell of hers. She cranes her neck past my face to be right by my ear again and whispers, "I know it was you."

Huh?!

  "I don't-"

  "Pretty interesting reaction you had to my file there...only a guilty killer would act that way when faced with the cold. Hard. Truth." She yells the last part and I knock my head into her arm trying to lean away from it. Pushing herself back up straight, she looks down her nose at me and gives half a chuckle and god do I have butterflies right now?! "I'm afraid I'm gonna be taking you in now."

  Taking me in? What does that mean for her? What will that mean for me? I've been found guilty? For a crime that doesn't even exist by a cop that's not even a cop. This has gone too far. I need to get out of here. I'll make it out of here and go home and never mess with the town cook again. I can't get tangled in this - what am I meant to do?

  I slowly start to scooch to the edge of the couch with my hands up in surrender. "Aw man, that sucks. Well listen, Ms Harkness - Detective! Sorry, Detective Harkness. I..I have homework that is due tonight and damn look at the time. It's been fun-" Making the most coherent excuses I can think of knowing damn well she's only gonna hear what she wants to, I slowly stand and begin to back away when her own hands shoot up. Before I can do anything at all, red fuzzy handcuffs are around both my wrists. I choke on air while Agatha stands there completely serious. I really hope these are meant to be regular handcuffs and don't belong to her. I don't think I could handle it otherwise.

  "You're not going anywhere, toots."

  Now I'm really toast.

-----------------

[bluberryfields]

"David is very easy to fall in love with." - Michael Sheen

Hi. How are you? Good, I hope. Okay, so can we talk about just how fucking beautiful David Tennant is? And by “we” I mean “I” and by “talk” I mean “babble incoherently into the void”? Great! I’ll attempt to impose a bit of organization on this just to satisfy my pathological need to inflict structure on words (thanks college/job/brain), but I can’t promise much. Also, there will be A LOT of pictures and gifs. (you’re welcome?)

And this isn’t just because I am deep in the bottomless well of Good Omens fandom and that Crowley is basically the most breathtaking creature that has ever existed. Well, not just because of that.

*cue Aziraphale's "good lord" from 1793*

ANYWAY, like a lot of people, I became a fan of (i.e., fell deeply and irrevocably in love with) DT during his run as the 10th Doctor. He was young and bright and full of just about everything – joy, sorrow, wit – making him incredibly watchable. His look was also so charming: big bouncy rooster comb of hair, absurdly cheeky smile, expressive-as-fuck eyes and eyebrows, and a tall, lanky form that seemed to be made of rubber and the kind of granulated sugar that could only be found in candy from the 90s that are now banned in all first- and second-world countries.

So yeah, I was super into him and his Doctor’s adventures. And I continued to watch him in other projects and still swoon (looking at you, slutty Hamlet)

even at characters where that was not the desired reaction (fuck you, Kilgrave, you delicious monster).

I would also always become a bit (a lot) weak in the knees at his voice regardless of which accent he took on, though always preferring him doing any Scottish brogue because of fucking course.

Roll that tongue, you sexy beast.

But what I want to get into today is just how incredible he looks in the year of 2023.

He’s 52 years old and I am somehow even more attracted to him. Maybe it’s because I am myself older, and my tastes have matured alongside? I certainly do enjoy gray hair way more than I did 10 years ago.

He’s aged incredibly well, probably a combination of good genes and good health, and he’s clearly not clinging to the Hollywood idea of “youth”.

(insert obligatory grumble about the double standards of men being praised for aging and women being demonized…the potentially problematic nature of the term “aging well” in general…acknowledge this with my enlightened brain but ignore this with my slutty heart…fuck the patriarchy, etc. etc.)

He’s still tall and skinny, even gangly at times, all long arms and legs that can move in impossible directions with unfathomable grace.

His face is leaner, that incredible bone structure creating sharper edges that draw the eye. Speaking of the face, he’s got these creases on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and mouth that are evidence of time spent well: smiling, laughing, living. Makes you want to trace your fingertips along each one.

Oh god that smile? Good lord. It’s weapons grade charm that can also be quite intimidating. Sweet, humble, silly, scary…full spectrum of options here! His shark smile is the definition of “irresistible” in my Dictionary of Delicious Dudes.

I am both proud of and grossed out by my own word choice.

Continuing with that face...the hawkish nose, the dimples you want to drown in, the big eyes, those motherfucking eyebrows...

I could seriously write a whole essay about those eyebrows, but I already give my therapist enough to worry about.

Oh those eyes. “Piercing” is a term usually reserved for blue eyes, but I would argue it applies to DT’s bottomless chocolate pools in that they slice through my heart every damn time.

Honorable mention does go to those Crowley snake eyes because they could have been distracting and diminishing to his overall look, but they absolutely are not.

Such a pretty shade of yellow.

Random tangent to swoon about his hands. For whatever reason, I like checking out a man’s hands, and DT’s got a set that drives me wild. I can’t even really explain why, but I just really like the way he articulates with them. Crowley is a perfect example, what with the miracle snaps, caressing globes, and holding whisky glasses. Yum.

Delicious demon digits

Fresh tangent: How does this fucker look good clean shaven, with stubble, and a goddamn beard? How is that allowed?

He's got a face that makes me wanna take up sculpting

Further, how is his fucking neck so hot? Like, seriously, show me the math. I can’t stop staring at it. And when it’s cloaked in a turtleneck? Please, sir, may I have some more?

Fuuuuuuuck

With no segue whatsoever, I am absolutely obsessed with his hair, across all contexts. Big, bold, blood-red Crowley coifs (especially in Season 2)? Check.

Proper gentleman side part? Check.

Side shave with cartoonishy springy 14th Doctor shock? Check.

Lockdown locks with and without headband? Check!

It’s a goddamn buffet of delicious options.

Oh damn speaking of that 14th Doctor look? Good fucking Christ on a buttery Ritz cracker. The whole DT collection is on display: the hair, the eyes, the bone structure, the smile, the clothes, and even the glasses!

To quote Pam on Archer, “I swear to god, you could drown a toddler in my panties right now! I mean, not that you would.”

Now that you (I) mention the clothes, I never cease to marvel at how he can wear pretty much anything and look amazing. Stripes, patterns, wild colors, etc. He just always looks…not exactly comfortable, but sort of at ease like the clothes were created with him in mind. And this goes across the spectrum of Casual to Costume to Promotional (e.g., interviews and premieres).

They are almost illegally cute together

We all know by now how ridiculously tight those Crowley pants are and how it influenced his signature serpentine swagger (thank you, Costume department, you’re the real heroes). That said, he and those slinky hips still looks so incredibly natural in them like they came from his actual closet.

Stupid sexy snek

And he pulls off the look of more ridiculous stuff like full Shakespearean costumes or that sad gray-hoodie-black-shorts-and-Wellington-boots combo from the first season of Staged. He somehow gives off the air of “whatever, they’re just clothes, man” while also looking like a damn model.

Georgia is a very lucky woman

Final thoughts: I know DT dislikes talking about how people think he’s so attractive because I’m sure it feels a bit icky if you just want to live your life and do your job. But my guy also clearly understands that he’s not some ghoul who has succeeded on incredible personality and acting chops alone. So, that said, maybe he'll forgive me for posting such a long, rambling, ode to him?

[markantonys]

taking a second look at the alleged sammael audition script, aka here's how demandred can still win, aka i won't give up hope for my FILF (forsaken i'd like to fuck) until he is forcibly removed from my clutches!

so! you all know my distrust of alleged audition scripts after S2 Gawyngate (which in retrospect i feel like must have actually been some kind of super-alternative barthanes script, but i digress). but i'm going to look at the sammael one anyway; for comparison, i just looked at the elaida ones, which are for 2 scenes we've already seen (requesting an audience with siuan + convo with min) and i saw that in both cases, the general vibes & summary of the scene are the same as in the final product, but the actual dialogue is pretty different (as far as i can remember, though i have only watched the episodes once).

so i'm not going to be looking at the exact wording of the sammael script, but rather the vibes and summary, which are: he has been captured by an unknown third-age channeler, who i'd guess is rand, and that person is demanding to know where "it" is. sammael also flexes his Greatest General creds and claims to have invented the art of war (which is why i feel pretty good about wotseries's guess that this is indeed sammael and not a different forsaken).

the other sammael info we know for certain so far is: he appears in two more episodes this season, 6 and 8, and he is in a scene with rand and egwene in a location that may be cold rocks hold (this can be seen briefly in a BTS shot).

we also know for certain that couladin has his fake car'a'carn tattoos at alcair dal. probably fair to assume this is forsaken handiwork, as it is in the books (we can't say 100%, but i don't think couladin has the makeup skills or resources to draw hyper-convincing dragon tattoos on his arms without magical help, so). in addition, while we can't rule out Surprise Asmodean showing up in ep8, so far we have nothing to point towards asmodean being in s3, and i don't believe there are any leaked-but-not-yet-imdb-credited actors left who would be a fit for asmodean.

sammael in episode 6 will most likely be showing up to personally participate in the cold rocks hold attack, which in the books he's responsible for but not present during. easy enough speculation.

but what's he up to in episode 8? rahvin is also credited in 8, so perhaps there's just another forsaken meeting in this episode. but i wouldn't be at all surprised if sammael takes asmodean's role of setting up couladin and then being captured by rand.

this could then perhaps lead into an s4 seeing sammael as rand's reluctant teacher - maybe even in military matters as well as channeling. i'm not certain how rand would be able to subdue him for long enough, though, since sammael seems way less likely than asmodean to roll over for rand to save his own skin + tying off weaves is still a lost skill for third-age channelers so rand can't keep him shielded without actively channeling at him 24/7. but i think asmodean got cut off from the power or massively reduced in channeling ability by the dark one because the dark one was mad at him or something? my memory's super fuzzy haha but if it was something like that, then the same could happen to sammael and that solves that problem.

in this theoretical structure, i would mark sammael down as temporarily neutralized as a threat in s4 to let rahvin be the big forsaken we're focused on vanquishing (maybe moggy as well if she escapes nynaeve this season like she does in TSR). then sammael escapes rand's clutches towards the end of s4 and goes on to be the big boss of s5 and face his demise then.

a scenario like this would completely eliminate the need for asmodean since sammael would do everything he does and then escape to carry out his own book plotline afterwards. therefore, our final forsaken slot could go to demandred, disguised as taim and fucking up the black tower in a long-con that lets him survive all the way to the last battle to be our big Final Boss leading the on-the-ground battlefield fighting. (however, sammael establishing his Greatest General creds in the audition scene could also be setup for him ending up leading the shadow's army in TLB. but arriving in s3, being blatantly and actively antagonistic to rand from the getgo, and STILL surviving all the way til TLB feels like a LONG time for him to be hanging around without getting defeated, which is why i feel a bit better about the idea of demandred staying stealthily under the radar as taim for long enough to reach TLB unvanquished. of course, if we only get 5-6 seasons then sammael reaching TLB is no problem. but for 7-8 it might be tough.)

"but the statue had a guitar!" you shout. well, 1) we don't know with one HUNDRED percent certainty that the item in question is a guitar, the statues are pretty stylized and also hard to get super-good looks at since it's a dark scene, 2) the statue scene was filmed pre-covid, so there's a chance that some of the post-covid changes they made to the story ended up stretching out far enough to change the identities of the 8 forsaken from what was originally planned. (i've also seen a paraphrase of a rafe quote where he apparently mentioned something about how the people of the current age might not have accurate information about the forsaken and how many there are, which the poster took as a sign that the writers are giving themselves flexibility to bring in different or additional forsaken if they end up feeling like they need to.)

my conclusion is that from what we know so far, it does feel likely that sammael will absorb asmodean's role of fucking with couladin and getting captured by rand in 3x08. maybe he could escape rand's clutches immediately and go off to tear/illian and rand could meet asmodean in s4 and take him as a teacher, but why not just bring asmodean into this season if that was the case? the only theory i can think of for asmodean getting introduced in a non-waste-storyline context is if HE impersonates taim and spearheads the black tower storyline and rand gets some tutoring from "taim" in s4, but at that point we're veering so far away from asmodean's book story that we just have taimandred wearing a nametag that says taimodean.

(it's also possible show!rand might be self-taught and never have a personal channeling tutor. after s2, i would've thought this was unlikely what with the logain plotline feeling like setup for him getting a better teacher, but from what little we've seen of his channeling in s3 so far, he doesn't particularly seem to be struggling with lack of knowledge, just lack of self-control, which i could imagine being something he teaches himself. i don't know, though, too early to make any calls on how much channeling tutelage show!rand will still need after s3.)

i will end on a quote from my currently-reading-TFOH friend, who has unknowingly done a great job of illustrating how little asmodean ACTUALLY does despite his fandom popularity haha asmodean may be more popular and have a more distinctive persona than demandred, but demandred-as-taimandred would serve a way bigger and longer-term narrative role (as the leader of the black tower storyline AND the last battle) and thus i think asmodean's relatively-minimal Plot Activities would be easier to parcel out to others.

[susiecarter]

I know this is a long shot but would you ever consider doing a small one shot sequel to your story 50 shades of Wayne. Because there's no way after that ending that Bruce doesn't absolutely despise himself and try to avoid Clark whilst Clark tries to let Bruce know it's okay and he loves him anyway but thinks that Bruce's distance is because he can't accept that Clark is an alien and that he still fears him so Clark feels like he isn't good enough for Bruce too. I neeeeeeeeed it, I just know the angst would be too good

:DDDDD I guess you might have suggested a short one in a spirit of optimism, anon, hoping that I might finish it faster ... but I'm afraid I can promise you that if I manage to write a sequel to "50 Shades of Wayne", it is going to be LONG, haha.

BECAUSE you are extremely right! I had to find somewhere halfway sane to stop, because of the bang deadline and also because I could not do any more words by the time I was posting that thing :'D but, oh, man, anon, Bruce despises himself SO HARD *clenches fists* and there is absolutely another 100k+ of a follow-up JL AU where he is being SO weird about it—having been forced to face the fact that he's been acting like a complete asshole toward a guy who deserved none of it and also is into him anyway, he is going to fall apart on the inside AND utterly refuse to make that Clark's problem, because Clark doesn't deserve to have to deal with any more of Bruce's issues (= not explain the vast majority of what's going on in his head to Clark, leaving Clark to invent his own explanations! :') BRUCE, YOU IDIOT).

Specifically, in my heart, the arc of the sequel is about Bruce deciding the solution here is to flip the switch the other direction, because that's how he rolls, one extreme to the other—he no longer trusts himself to top Clark OR to dom him at all, and refuses to let Clark trust him to do it, either. He avoids Clark unless he thinks there's something he can do for Clark or unless he has the impression Clark would like to bang him; and yeah, one of the explanations Clark ends up assuming might be behind it is absolutely that Bruce is now afraid of him, which is going to be responsible for MANY miscommunications. :'D Other things that are definitely going to happen in the sequel: Clark is going to learn aftercare is a thing, in the course of trying to figure out how to dom Bruce well, and also that various other things about Bruce's way of pursuing BDSM (for example, Bruce treating it as a given that the sub needs to be able to identify hard limits but the dom doesn't) were wrongheaded; Clark is going to praise Bruce until Bruce safewords out of it because he can't stand it anymore, even though he would have let Clark beat him bloody if Clark had tried to do that instead; and they are actually going to manage to unpack a few of Bruce's psychological issues together. :'D

... And also some approximation of the plot of JL is going to happen in the background, but that part is going to be less id and more genuine story structure. :D

[gojoidyll]

I heard you’re taking requests 👀.

Could I request a sugar daddy jy with an office worker reader? CEO jy 👀?? Imagine reader has some work place trouble yk harassing or the general annoying assholes who try to push their work on you.

Pretty pretty pretty plssss? With a cherry on top?

Also…I GOT HIMMMMMM

I hope you get him too! Spreading Mydei luck. Have a good day at work!!

I see the vision, so I think I'll delve more into this at a later date...

Amused, curious, maybe even a tinge of anger. Looking at the recent abundance of reports, he started to notice something odd. Something that had started to catch his attention five reports ago. Now, it wasn’t odd for his diligent workers to turn in reports, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the format of each report, the sentence structure, the word usage. He’s hired these people personally, knows how they type and knows how they write up reports.

And for some odd reason, each report started to look similar to another person’s writing.

Yours.

You were a recent hire, have been working for him for about six months. He doesn’t know you well (yet) but he does know what your reports look like.

So why have you written over twenty of them?

Figuring out the why was simple enough.

You were a shy little thing, an easy person to push over. Your coworkers were like hyenas. They liked to pick on the weak, because in this industry, it was needed sometimes, but Jing Yuan didn’t quite like that approach. He hated it, in fact.

Which was how he found himself at your desk, his fingers lightly pinching a petal of a flower that rested there.

“Mr. Jing Yuan,” your voice was shaky as he motioned you to stand up, your legs trembled as you pushed yourself to your feet. This was it, you were going to get fired. Along with being a push-over, you were an overthinker and always prepared to look for a new job if fired at a moment’s notice. You couldn’t help it, it was just the way you are.

“This way.”

He motioned you to go into the conference room, no windows, and soundproof to the point that someone would have to press their ear to the door to hear the boss yelling at you.

Closing the door behind you, he asked you to sit down.

“Do you like it here?”

The question caught you off guard, but you nodded anyway, “I do.”

You wished your voice would stop shaking with each word that tumbled out of your mouth.

He chuckled lightly as you felt your neck grow hot, your palms start to sweat, and your back get damp. You’ve never been this nervous before except for the time you had to give a presentation alone. But this is worse, this is the place that actually gives you money to be here.

“I know what has been happening. About the numerous reports you’ve written and how everyone has been handing their work off to you.”

“Mr.-“

He held a finger up, “so I want to give you a new position.”

He lowered his hand, “one as my personal assistant.”

The face you made at his suggestion was so cute, he wondered if he could have that expression to himself soon.

[stardustandash]

bound and gagged for jfo pls!

Hello anon and thank you for the prompt!! Not gonna lie, I was a little glad this one came so late in the month as it took nearly half of it to come up with an idea.

The last of the Febuwhump prompts in my inbox, here's day 25: Bound and Gagged!

Meeting the Raiders

Words: 1526

As Cal’s mind worked to catch up he took in his situation. Bound, gagged, and alone. BD-1 was nowhere in sight and he hoped that meant the droid had either run back to Rambler’s Reach for backup or was waiting somewhere nearby for Cal to pull off one of his usual tricks before picking him up. Feeling cooped up after only one day in Rambler's Reach after the Coruscant mission, Cal decides to explore. It doesn't go well.

Ao3 Link

In retrospect, Cal should have seen this coming. He knew there were raiders in the hills around Rambler’s Reach. He’d been warned about them by Mosey, Greez, even Monk. Hell, he’d come face to face with who he presumed to be the leader of the bunch, the big Gen’Dai who Cal run into when he’d first come to town. And yet as soon as he spotted the strange structure in the hills all of that warning left his head as curiosity won out. He’d only been on Koboh for a day and a half, not nearly long enough for Greez to stop his fussing and Cal needed to get out and move. He’d made his way to walls decorated in stormtrooper armour and strange, spiderlike designs and then… nothing.

Though with the headache pounding at his temples Cal shouldn’t be surprised that he can’t remember anything. In front of him an armoured and masked raider was in the middle of a speech riling up the others. There were insults mixed in and a general air of victory that had Cal frowning. Or not frowning. His mouth wouldn’t make the right shape. His sluggish mind took a minute to parse why that was. There was something in his mouth, running tight through his teeth and pressing into the corners of his lips. Now that he was aware of it he could taste it too. Sweat and dirt and something else nasty that threatened to make him gag. He tried to raise his hands to rip the gag out, but they were stuck behind his back. Rope dug into the soft flesh around his wrists as he tried to pull them apart. He wished they’d used cuffs; he’d spent so long working on his lockpicking skills for the mission on Coruscant.

As Cal’s mind worked to catch up he took in his situation. Bound, gagged, and alone. BD-1 was nowhere in sight and he hoped that meant the droid had either run back to Rambler’s Reach for backup or was waiting somewhere nearby for Cal to pull off one of his usual tricks before picking him up. Though, the more Cal thought about it, BD-1 was not the type to run away or wait patiently. He was probably up to no good somewhere within the shanty metal walls around them ready to wreak his own havoc. Cal wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“So, what should we do with this thief?” cried the raider in front of Cal, jolting him out of his thoughts and into the present.

“Kill him!” yelled a raider from the crowd.

“Feed him to the beast below!” shouted another.

“Let him dance for us!”

There was a chorus of laughter after the last call. The raider leaned down and grabbed Cal by the back of his vest, hoisting him a foot off the ground and shaking him roughly. Cal’s feet scrabbled in the dirt uselessly, not held high enough to get his feet under himself properly, and not nearly coordinated enough at the moment to get one up to the proper position to knee the man where it hurt.

“What do you think?” the raider hissed in Cal’s face. The smell of unwashed humanoid and armour that had been dragged through mud and blood and never cleaned had Cal trying not to puke once again. “Which death sounds more fun?”

Cal chose to glare at him. Not like he could give an answer anyway with the gag in his mouth. Through the Force he felt the other man’s glee and excitement. Right. The Force. He was a Jedi, or trying to be.

Trying to grasp the Force was like trying to hold a freshly oiled BD-1: every time Cal came close to holding on it slipped further away. If he were Cere he could just reach out and put the suggestion to let Cal go in his mind, but Cal wasn’t nearly so strong. He needed to speak to use the mind tricks she’d taught him. And wrestle his thoughts into something more coherent and shapable. But the Force was there, waiting for him. And Cal was used to using it more instinctively anyway.

“I say we make the boy dance,” said the raider to the gathered crowd to cheers.

Cal didn’t wait to find out what that would mean. He flailed his legs at the dirt again, relief hitting him as he finally found his footing. He gave the raider as much of a smirk as he could through the gag before reaching out to the Force and pushing it out towards the raider. The man flew backwards into the crowd with a shout.

At the same time a small glowing orb dropped from overhead into the back of the crowd and electricity jolted through metal armour. Cal had found BD-1. The little droid raced towards him, using his boosters to clear the arcs of electricity coursing through the raiders and scrambling over to Cal. For his part Cal wasted no time turning and starting to run. He had no idea where he was running to, but anywhere was better than stuck with what was sure to be many pissed off raiders.

It was a good thing the raiders were preoccupied as Cal wasn’t exactly at his most coordinated as he half jogged half stumbled his way through the raider’s fortress with his hands still tied behind him. He didn’t get very far when BD-1 landed on his back and nearly sent him falling onto his face. Though sheer luck he remained upright and moving forward. At least BD-1 had the area mapped out already as he screeched directions in Cal’s ear. A left, a right, through this building and down this narrow gap.

At last Cal could see the tall outer wall of the complex and the gap in it. Except of course the entrance was guarded. When was his luck ever good. As he got closer the figure in the archway resolved not into another raider, but a battle droid. Cal hadn’t seen one of those since the war. That same fear he felt as a padawan almost stopped him in his tracks. It’s been ten years, he’s almost as tall as the droid now, but he still remembered them looming over him on the battlefield.

GO! GO! GO! BD-1 screeched and Cal obeyed. He dashed forward, uncoordinated steps taking him too close to the droid. It raised its blaster at the same time Cal’s stumbling legs sent him into it. Together they tumbled out of the raider’s hideout and down a rocky hill. With his hands still tied behind him there was little Cal could do but try his best to curl in on himself as stones bit into his cheeks and scraped down his arm. It didn’t do much. He slammed against the metal body of the droid and felt something in his shoulder give with a crunching pop before he fell away from the droid.

At last Cal came to a rough stop. It took his brain a moment to fully realize that he’d stopped rolling and the pain began sinking in. His face stung with dozens of small cuts and he was definitely bruised black and blue all over. His left shoulder had that awful edge of numb ache that meant it was probably dislocated. He let out a low groan and blinked up at the cloudless sky. Greez was going to kill him. Cal almost smiled at the thought, it had been a long time since he’d last had it.

There’s a scuffle to his left, followed by a series of vindictive beeps and the tell-tale sound of BD-1’s shock prod. Sure enough as Cal looked to the side he saw BD-1 standing over the battle droid with his shock prod buried at the base of its head. As BD noticed Cal he leapt off the droid and scuttled over, quickly making short work of getting the gag off and then working on his hands.

“Nice timing, BD,” said Cal. His voice is rough and his mouth is dry, but at least he isn’t tasting someone else’s sweat anymore.

The rope around Cal’s wrists broke with a snap and he could feel the blood rush into his hands. His shoulder screamed as his arm slid forward, the dull ache becoming a raging fire until Cal managed to settle it with deep breaths.

Want a stim? Asked BD-1, already popping the tray out of his head.

“Not yet, need to set my shoulder first.”

Ah. To the Greez then?

“Yeah, to Greez little buddy,” agreed Cal.

It took some effort and clever application of BD-1’s boosters but Cal eventually made it up to his feet. BD-1 seemed to take pity on him and stayed on the ground for now, happy to critique Cal’s performance in the raider stronghold now that he wasn’t actively running for his life. The two of them made their slow way back to Rambler’s Reach. Hopefully Greez’ medkit was well stocked and Greez himself wouldn’t be too angry about Cal immediately finding trouble on his planet.

[cosmicourple]

Ah, hi, it’s me the anon who wants to write your time loop Ody. You can call me Voli to make things easier. Sorry, I’ve been trying to work out the ins and outs of the story and have been busy with other things too. I hope you’re doing well. I will be posting it on Ao3 if that’s alright and while I’m here I would like to ask a few questions since you are the creator of this au.

Without spoiling things, I have already outlined a plot line for the story and are currently arranging characters, seeing who fits and who needs to sit it out. Tiresias, Artemis, Dionysus, Hephaestus, Hestia and Demeter are the ones still out on debate. What I’m wondering is if there’s any character you feel is important to include to the story or should be better off just mentioned or briefly touched on out of the six? Apollo didn’t fall into this because of his gift of prophecy and he and Aphrodite have cut it very close. Aphrodite is there too due to her connection to Ouranos, though she’s unfortunately not gonna have a big role. That whole thing is still being workshopped so I might update on that later.

Another question is one I’ve honestly been struggling with and that’s concerning Rhea. Since she’s still around on Olympus, she does stand a chance against Kronos even when he’s not really there so if it’s alright, how should I tackle this so that the story doesn’t get cut short without discrediting her? I feel like Kronos will find a loophole around her but I’m not sure how so if you or anyone have any suggestions please let me know.

And that’s all I have to share. I apologise for the wait and it’s going to take some time to create the story but I’m working hard on it and I’ll let you know once it’s out. Thank you so much, have a good day/night.

Edit: I’m so, so, SO SORRY this took so long to answer, I’ve been feeling extremely burnt out for the past few days, & probably should’ve waited just a bit longer before asking 4 an update 🥲 I rlly don’t wanna pressure u, I swear 🫶🫶 (I should be thanking YOU 4 ur wonderful contribution to this insanity, & I am sending virtual support 4 ur motivation ☺️)

OMG HIIIII THERE VOLI!1!111!!! Good to get a ‘name’ 4 asks hehe <333

Okay, first, I’m gonna get this out the way by saying I am not confident (atleast, in my opinion) in my ability to do & / or help ‘plan out’(???) / structure fic related things, like for example character placement, plot points / lining (if that’s the word :/), keeping said characters as in character as they should be, etc :’)

I just get way to nervous about it all, so I’m afraid I may not give good advice / feedback on this hhgfffddfdd I can barely believe I’m getting a fanfic on my ideas :”) !!

haha srry about that lil’ self-beating rant, I just never expected to get here :’D

*dramatic sigh* anyway *w*,,,,,,,,,,,

#1: I don’t rlly wanna make a firm imput on who goes where, who’s more valuable than who, because after all, it’s YOUR story at the end of the day, thoooough, if I had to decide importance….

2nd edit: lol watch my suggestions degrade as I run out of juice 😋

-Demeter is. There. Unfortunately, I can’t rlly see anyway 4 her to be,,,, important, which is a shame in my head :(. Ig u could involve her when maybe suspicions of Kronos’s presence is confirmed n like- the Six Siblings maybe get together to discuss n worry ‘bout it, but apart from that, I unfortunately don’t have rlly much to give about her placement 🥲 (hey ho, acknowledgment is good enough 4 me <333 and maybe badass Demeter/joking).

-hmmm, right off the bat, my first thoughts were that Dionysus also felt unimportant. Which also sucks. idk I just can’t rlly see a way that would fit him in w/ the main,,, THING of the story smoothly, I mean, u got his whole reincarnation aspect + his connection w/ Humanity thru him once being Mortal, so maybe that’s something that could be brought up w/ Odysseus, seeing as reincarnation + Timeloop = kinda similar, but more on that Dionysus could have major sympathy 4 Ody’s’ insane suffering, understanding that a mere Human can’t be put through this sort of thing without lasting consequences bc of his own understanding of Humanity :D.

uhhhhhhh— idk, I think he would work better as a minor character u see Odysseus interact w/ during Loop Moments or maybe as a supporting character helping in the back during some big moments lol I’m not sure, there is probably something that could be done with him either way, who knows :) (Demeter could also work as these 2 things as well <D).

-now Hestia. I can see something. It’s only a lil’ bit more than the previous but I can see. Something. Idk like I said, I’m useless at this most of the time lmaooooo- but not much :’). Maybe comfort related things or maybe a notable place during some big moment idk I’m not sure 😭😭.

-Artemis n Hephaestus r tied w/ each other bc they could both very much have spotlight moments but at the same time, could both easily fade into the background most of the time. I have a clearer image of Artemis’s moment, obviously something 2 do w/ Apollo (bc her bro def has some idea of what’s going on, causing maybe a interaction like: “hey Apollo wtf is going on???????”), Hephaestus is unfortunately blurry, but there is an idea mostly just him being grumpy w/ this bullshit hajdhs <D.

-Tiresias in my mind, is quite important, despite Apollo already being there bc I like to think he’s one of the first to notice the Timeloops thanks 2 Prophecy Powers. But he’s also important in my head bc I have this stupid idea of, during one of the Loops, Ody’ kidnapping him from The Underworld & abandoning ship 2 run off & talk w/ them bc they know what’s going on with him + at that point Ody’ needed someone to properly vent to & also. Comedy :) that was such a shitty explanation why.

and as 4 the second question,,,,,

#2: Rhea. Oh Rhea. Mother of The Six Olympians, Former Queen of The Universe & Kronos’s Wife.

What a fun yet frustrating thing u are to try and tackle.

In my mind for the fifth time this post everytime Ody’ resets, the thing she resets to is sitting in one of the gardens, staring at a massive fractured, rusted & black stained mirror, one of the very few things from Kronos’s rule that stubbornly remains. It looks cursed, & in Rhea’s opinion, yes. Yes it is fucked up on some level. And he can talk to her through it,,,,,

I think Rhea somehow knows that the Timeloops r happening but doesn’t actually remember any of them. All she knows is that Her Husband is up to no good &,,,, she doesn’t rlly want to deal w/ it. She can’t persuade him to stop, she can’t even physically stop him. He’s a ghost, floating invisibly through the air, watching their shattered reality & his champion grow, yet by some cruel joke, only Rhea can constantly see his glitching & writhing form, like oil mixed w/ electricity blobbing around, appearing on that unnerving mirror, grumbling about Olympus & their children’s terrible rule & bla bla bla bla—

Yeah, so her decision to not help is very, very selfish. Uncharacteristic. But she’s so tired. She just can’t bring herself to care about whatever nonsense Kronos is causing.

(On the other side, Kronos likes talking to her, it’s. Nice :). Even if she won’t listen to what he’s trying to get at. It’s annoying, but, at least they can converse. Lol, these two r so fucked in situation yet so funny to think about idk <333)

…

aaaaand, that’s all I have to add rn mwahaha. I hope this has been good enough feedback on ur fic & I hope you’re enjoying writing it <DD.

Again, I am ecstatic to see someone wanting to write using my weird ideas HTGJKIYEQDGVFGFRFGGR tho pls, pls, PLEASE—

don’t push urself if it gets to much or if u want a break.

don’t feel pressured into thinking u have to write / publish this 4 me or 4 anyone else. It’s ur creation, u can do or don’t do whatever u want.

and DON’T think that u have to follow my ideas. Trust me, the scenarios n shit in my head are as blended as this A.U’s title suggests. The fic might be inspired by my ideas, but it doesn’t have to follow them 🫶.

anyway, you to have a good day / night & Happy Holidays🎄✨✨✨✨✨🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[triggerhappyhavac-academy]

It would be best if you all forgot that the outside world even exists. The sooner you can accept the school as your new world, the better chances you have of survival. And for now, that takes priority. Once you have a system in place, you can figure out how to escape.

Speaking of a system, I think you should create some of your own rules, so you can have structure. Night guards, division of tasks, a 24/7 buddy system, that sort of thing. It would make things safer, more efficient, and would forge the group together.

And for those of you who don't see the point of working together because you want to win: This is not a game. This is a trap. And that sort of "dog eat dog" mentality is precisely what the Mastermind wants. You're not competing against each other, you're competing against the person who trapped you all here. The one who watches, and attempts to control you. Who anticipates your every move. Are you going to let yourself get tricked by their mind games, or will you have enough determination to face the real threat? For all of your sakes, I sincerely hope it's the latter.

Good luck, and may you overcome this despair together! I believe in all of you.

- S.C.

Jeez, do I really have to read all of that? It's just a lot of words. I think I'd fall asleep if I tried.

This is mostly just a more in-depth explanation of what I've been saying this entire time.

Though it does not just tell us to adapt, it gives us some amount of advice on how to which could be useful. Creating our own system and rules would lead to less deaths, and a more peaceful school environment.

Although it would be a complicated process, not to mention getting everyone to go along with it is tricky on it's own.

I mean... I can agree with a lot of what they're saying, but to give up on the outside world entirely?

Don't get me wrong, I think we should do our best to keep things civil between us.

But giving up on our lives is giving up everything we've worked hard to achieve, and it also means accepting living a life where Monokuka controls our day-to-day lives forever.

Y-yeah, and sure, h-having night gaurds and a b-buddy system would make things l-less stressful, but

That j-just makes our lives m-more complicated and a-annoying. I d-don't want to deal with that e-everyday for the rest of my l-life.

Well of course we all want to get back to our ordinary lives, but most of this advice seems like it holds it's weight anyway.

So as long as we're all in agreement on creating a system similar to what this person is suggesting, I believe-

I never agreed to this.

Huh...? But they said-

I am aware of what they said, but unfortunately they are wrong.

Spend as much time searching for a way out as you want, but it has been made clear already what you need to be willing to do in order to leave.

Of course you're gonna be the one to make things difficult! What's it gonna take to knock some sense into you!?

Come on, man. This is about our survival, isn't it?

I can manage my own survival and I don't personally care for yours. I'm not a pawn to the mastermind, I'm simply playing by their rules for now.

It's not possible to convince everyone to agree. Your efforts will only lead to frustrate you further, so it's best to just leave him to his decision.

Personally... I don't like the idea either.

Their world of advice intrigue me. They seem to be headed in both the right and wrong direction. Working together may seem smart, but the amount of trust that requires has proven to be dangerous.

I'll likely be able to agree to some amount of regulations, but to limit myself completely for the sake of communal life isn't a possibility.

I suppose it depends on the details of the premise, so why don't we take the day to discuss it, and then decide?

[thegreatcaptainusopp]

The Separation

Ao3 link

The Seer, Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Franky

It’s cold here.

Funnily enough, this is the first thing that goes through Franky’s mind as he sits up, adjusting to suddenly being back on solid ground again.

It’s cold here. It’s a winter island, and he’s been flying here for days. The cold seeps through his joints and metal and cobbled-together frame and right into his still beating heart. He’s finally stable again, but he’s cold.

Franky shakes his head. First thing to do: find somewhere to warm up. Second: find his way back to his crew.

There. Easy.

He glances around him. Wherever he is, it’s clearly been abandoned: it’s all snow, creaky and empty houses, and wastelands as far as the eye can see. Maybe he can jerry-rig up some binoculars, try to get a good sense of the area around him, even find some help…

Franky shakes his head again. “Focus,” He mutters to himself. “One thing at a time, yeah?”

For now, he just needs to pick a direction and walk. If he finds someone to help, great. If he finds higher ground, great. If he finds the shore, great. Either way, he just needs to move.

Franky turns around in a circle, considering. “Okay,” He says aloud. “North. South. East. West. Which one?”

He thinks of Luffy, smiles, and worries.

“East it is, then.” Franky orients himself that direction and goes.

Thinking of Luffy is a mistake. The minute his captain’s face had flashed into his mind, everything else came with him. Had he been able to help? Brook had gotten hit, but what about the others? Kuma was so fast, had they been able to avoid him in time? Franky himself is still alive, but what about the others?

“No!” Franky tells himself again, more forcefully this time. “No worrying! Just action!”

Anyway, there’s also the matter of…well.

Still walking, he pulls out the Vivre card and considers it. He’d noticed it right away…Kuma had slapped it directly on him as he’d sent him away, and it was all Franky could do as cling onto it for deal life as he’d flown through the sky for all those days.

He has it now, but he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with it. Why would Kuma even give him a Vivre card? Had he done it on purpose? What would it lead to? Why would he just make him disappear and then give him a way out?

None of this makes any sense.

Franky stops for a moment, lifts his arms out, and lets out a yell into the snowy atmosphere. He pours all his confusion and worry and fear and rage into it, sees flocks of birds take off from the trees in reaction to the noise.

There. That’s done with. Now maybe he can focus up on what needs to be done?

Franky continues walking. Okay. The walking has warmed him up some. He’ll just go til he hits shore. After that, he’ll find some shelter and scrounge up some resources to build a vessel to get him out, following the Vivre card, and then—

Franky falters again. Vessel. Sunny.

He hopes she isn’t alone. Even if only one of his crew is on board, they’ll look after her. He thinks of all the time it took to build her, all the wood, all the ways he crafted her and poured all his dreams and love and hopes into the Adam Wood that makes her…

Oh not this again. Franky feels the tears welling up in his eyes, held back until now, but finally rising to the surface.

No. Whatever it is, he can fix it. He can rebuild anything. If he was able to put himself back together, he can do the same for his ship.

“Um, excuse me?”

Franky startles, then quickly wipes away his tears, he glances up, seeing nothing, then drops his gaze a little lower.

A child blinks back up at him. He’s dressed warmly, in a large jacket and furry hood. “Do you need help?”

-

“Whoa!” Franky stares up at the structure. He can feel his eyes sparkle as he takes in the word VEGAPUNK stamped onto the side. “I can’t believe this. I’m at one of Vegapunk’s labs. This is super!”

Kitton grins up at him “Super!” He echoes, striking the pose.

Franky immediately assumes the position with him. “Super!” He repeats again.

Kitton’s grandfather clears his throat. “Let’s try to get in now,” He suggests. “There may be something in there that’ll help you sail through the ice, like you said.”

“Yes!” Franky says, dashing over to the door. “I’ll get the door open! One moment.”

He grips the creaky and rusty metal door, and gives it a firm push. It gives way instantly, swinging onto half broken hinges and allowing Franky to stumble into the lab.

He looks around at the small room, excitement rising in his chest. It’s just one room, but it feels like so much more. Documents and blueprints line every corner, are spread at around every surface, cover the walls and the floors.

Franky kneels down, grabbing what looks like the schematic for a ship of some kind. “Super,” He breathes again, more awe than excitement. “I can’t believe it. No wonder nobody is allowed in here…these are treasures.”

Well. There’s no time like the present. He dives right in, rifling through the papers, trying to find something that might be useful…

“Mr. Franky, sir?”

Franky, jumps, then turns. “Kitton?” He responds.

The child stands at the door, nervous. “Grandfather is wondering,” He says. “You’re going to need some things, to build your way out and everything. There aren’t any materials here, so…”

Franky scratches his head. “Yes,” He thinks aloud. “I’m going to need…resources, to build. I’ll…hm. Do you have anywhere here on the island where I could buy some things I’ll need?”

The boy shakes his head. “Nah,” He says. “We’re too remote. My grandfather goes to another island right next to us every so often to buy stuff. He’s going today, so…”

Franky’s eyes light up. “Great!” He says, excited. “Then I’ll go as well. I think I’ll need—”

A thought occurs to him. He probably…he shouldn’t show his face around here, right? Too many marines, and he’s really a distinct individual, so…

Franky blows out a breath. “If you don’t mind, Kitton,” He tells the kid. “I’ll make a list now, for your grandfather to get while away. Please tell him that for his trouble I’ll come over and do as much fixing up and improving of your house and items as you need.”

Kitton gives him a quick salute “Yea Franky sir!” Then turns on his heel and speeds off.

Franky chuckles to himself. “Good kid,” He says, then continues searching in the stack, trying not to get too lost in the designs.

It’s a hopeless venture. As soon as he starts, he can’t help but get swept away in everything here: all the designs, all the ideas, all that inspiration…what he couldn’t give just to spend a little more time here…

But he can’t. He has people to help and protect. They come first, always.

He spots a button, skull and crossbones, from across the room. A pirate symbol? He draws closer, trying to get a closer look…

Then, something else catches his eye. A couple designs, but they look…different.

Franky pivots, curious, and grabs the schematics he sees on the wall opposite the door. These are not weapons, nor are they structures. Instead, they look like…little robots, automatons. The designs are in a different hand from most others in the room, with a very different artistic touch.

In short, these are most certainly not Vegapunk’s.

Franky stares down at the designs. “Who do you belong to, little buddies?” He asks thoughtfully. “And why are you here?”

It makes him so sad to think about. Someone had found this place between Vegapunk leaving and himself arriving, and had gotten so lonely they had felt the need to build themselves some companions!

He looks back at the designs. Then again, they do look very friendly and polite…

-

“Franky sir! I have the…wait!”

Franky breaks out of his inspiration trance. “What—” He begins, before he hears the sound of running footsteps, and a small hand grabs at his upper arm. “Mr. Franky!” Kitton squeals. “Don’t touch that!”

“He’s right,” He hears, and turns to see Kitton’s grandfather walk into the lab with a troubled expression. “That’s the self destruct button. Best stay away from that.”

Franky steps back instantly, carrying Kitton with him. “Gramps!” He yelps. “Thanks for the warning. You saved me from blowing myself sky high!”

“Mr. Franky,” Kitton pipes up, still hanging off his arm. “We got you your stuff!”

“Ah, super!” Franky makes a beeline towards the door, scooping Kitton up under his arm. “Thanks for going through all that trouble, Gramps. I’ll fix your house up all nice and good, all on me.”

“That’s kind of you, Franky,” The old man steps back. He has a newspaper under his arm. “What would you like to do first?”

“Good question,” Franky says, leading the group outside. “Let’s do your house first, I think I spotted the—oh.”

Franky stops in place, staring at the newspaper the old man is holding. There’s a headline there, WAR IN MARIN-, cut off by being tucked under his arm.

“Excuse me, Gramps?” Franky says. “Would you mind if I take a quick look at that paper?”

The old man looks a little surprised, but complies, unfurling the newspaper and hanging it over. Franky removes Kitton from his own grasp, swapping him for the paper.

He scans the front page quickly, then flips through the rest of pages, hoping, wondering…

There.

The minute Franky sees the photo, he bursts into tears. “You’re okay!” He wails, clutching the paper to his chest. “You’re okay!”

“Mr. Franky!” Kitton asks, tears forming in his own eyes. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, little bro!” Franky says, wailing growing louder. “Perfectly fine, in fact! So fine!”

The old man wears a look of deep concern. “Franky,” He says. “I’m not sure what happened, but we have to be careful. If we…you see, the Marines…”

Franky takes a couple deep breaths, wiping at his eyes. “Right,” He says. “Thanks, Gramps. I’ll calm down.”

The old man eyes him wearily. “Now,” He says. “Did you say you wanted to get started at—”

“Oh!” Franky exclaims, then catches himself, continuing in a softer tone. “Oh. Sorry Gramps. There’s been a bit of a change of circumstances. I’ll be sticking around for a while, couple years or so. In that case…I won’t put you out, but I’ll be living in the lab for some time. I’ll be here in case you need any assistance, at any time. So we can tackle the ship building on my end at a slower pace.”

The old man looks surprised. He gestures at Franky to keep walking. “You’re staying here?” He asks, brows furrowed in concern. “Are you sure? As you see, we don’t have much in the way of people or resources. You’d be much better off at the next island.”

“That’s what works for me,” Franky says, following along. “I’d prefer to be a little out of the way, for now.”

The old man nods thoughtfully. “In that case, do you have a plan? About what you’re going to do here? And how you’re going to live?”

Franky frowns. “I hadn’t thought that far,” He admits. “There’s…well, I’ll want to build a ship. Make some improvements on myself as well. Perhaps work on some of the things I discovered in the lab. Don’t worry, I’ll have enough to keep myself busy.”

“Is that so?” The old man says absently. He looks deep in thought. “Is that so…”

“Hey, Gramps,” Franky says slowly. “You look like you have an idea. I’d be excited to hear about it.”

The old man smiles. “I do indeed,” He says. “You seem to have quite the aptitude for fixing things. So…how about we advertise your services to the surrounding islands? If you build a good enough reputation, you’ll have orders coming in in no time.”

Franky pounds a fist in his palm. “That’s a great idea!” He exclaims. “Although we’re going to have to make sure that they know that I can’t make house calls, and they’ll have to come to me…” A thought occurs to him. “What about the Marines? Won’t they have a problem with…you know, me setting up base at Vegapunk’s lab and all?”

The old man hesitates. “Well,” He hedges. “Possibly. But I think we can work our way around it by, you know, including them in the deal too. You can fix their things as well, as your ‘rent money’ to occupy the space. They’d probably go through with it.”

Franky has a brief image of a fleet of ships, armed to the teeth with weapons he’d created. “No weapons,” He says flatly. “I’m not fixing any Marine weapons. That’s my line.”

The old man sighs. “Fine,” He says. “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. Other than that…are you in?”

Franky doesn’t really have to think about it much longer. “Yes,” He says, holding out a hand for an enthusiastic handshake. “I’m in. Thanks Gramps!”

-

The early days are slow.

Franky uses the time to really explore the lab. It’s smaller than he would have anticipated, but it’s probably because this is a satellite lab of some sort. Oh well. He’ll take what he can get.

He spends his days working on building his ship out of here, and on testing some of the inventions found scattered in the lab. Of course, he builds his little friends first: the automatons take a while to figure out but they come along nicely. They end up being enormously helpful in the lab, and are very handy assistants as well as companions.

Of course, it helps that Kitton is totally charmed and excited by them too.

The early days are slow, until they’re not.

One night, Franky wakes up from the memory of a large figure towering over him, and his helplessness in the face of the superior strength and speed. He comes to with a gasp, then holds his head in his hands, trying to regain control over his breathing.

He sleeps on the lab floor, so of course he’s instantly surrounded by his little automaton friends, who crowd up to him, clearly trying to figure out how to help.

“I’m alright,” He tells them breathlessly. He looks at them, seeing different faces, and it almost makes him burst into tears. “I’m fine.”

He gets up abruptly. This can’t happen again. He can’t be beaten like that again. Kuma has been big? Fine. He’ll be bigger. He can build himself up to whatever he likes. And he’s going to make sure he won’t ever be overpowered like that ever again.

He stumbles to his workbench, the automatons chittering away near his feet. “Bigger,” He mutters to himself. “Bigger. I need to be—I need—”

He hears a quiet, unfamiliar click behind him, and turns abruptly. One of the automatons stands near the wall, which has now moved out slightly.

Franky stumbles closer. What…

He makes it to the wall and pushes. It gives way with ease, and he finds a staircase leading down into the dark. He follows, taking the winding steps down, until he emerges into a much bigger space, dark and smelling of old, dry paper.

He glances around in amazement, then makes his way to the new sets of plans, blueprints, and schematics. Here, they’re all weapons: everything he can thing of, from firearms to additions to warships to things he wasn’t even familiar with…

Franky glances around at the workshop that will make him better, make him stronger.

“Battle Franky 37.” He mutters. “Let’s go.”

-

It’s not long after that that business starts to pick up.

Franky is glad he’s mostly completed the repairs on his ship, because he gets absolutely slammed with orders, and they only start building up with every successfully completed project. So, he stays focused, and stays busy, and learns with everything he’s given.

He also works on his other important project in secret. In the dead of night, he tinkers with what he can find in the secret lab. He comes up with things to add to the Sunny, to Usopp’s stash, to Nami’s clima-tact.

He gathers up most of the weapons modifications he can find, and begins work on a giant set of armor. He’s going to make the most fearsome machine the world has ever seen. Just wait.

Of course, not all of Franky’s work can remain secret. Battle Franky 37 is also a work in progress, and it’s one that he can’t hide. One day, when Kitton and his grandfather come in to greet him, and realize that he looks twice as tall as the previous day, well. There’s not much he can say about that one.

He also fixes up his hair into various styles to make Kitton laugh, but that’s neither here nor there.

Kitton and his grandfather end up being regular visitors, and business partners. The old man is quite a good walking advertisement for his business, and Kitton is quite the handy assistant. As the business grows, Franky is very aware that it has a time limit, and he doesn’t want to leave the two in the lurch. So he officially takes on Kitton as his apprentice, hoping that between him and the automaton, the workshop will be able to continue running in his absence.

Kitton had, of course, been delighted. “Cool!” He’d gasped, eyes sparking with excitement. “Do you think I can do it?”

Franky is suddenly reminded of his other current apprentice: expression just as excited and determined. “Of course,” He says, a pang going through his soul. “You’ll do great!”

Armed with his own upgrades and a new apprentice, Franky is sure he can hold down the fort until it’s time to go. And, well…he can. But the biggest challenge aren’t his upgrades, or the work, or the crushing feeling of not being where he’s supposed to be.

The biggest challenge are the Marines.

True to the old man’s word, they start sniffing around soon after Franky sets up shop: classic intimidation, trying to catch him off guard.

Franky is familiar with these games, and he doesn’t let them shake him. So, they leave, and come back with some work for him to do. Remembering the deal, he does it for free. After that, he’s good to go.

It gets a bit hairy the first time they bring a weapon that he refuses to touch: he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to fight his way out, somehow, but they eventually notice he never fixed weapons for anyone (too much a of a liability) and they don’t know about the secret lab and his own secret plans, so…

They keep coming back, and don’t cause him more problems, although the atmosphere is still tense. Marine visit days are the worst, and always guarantee Franky a few extra hours of personal modifications, just in case.

And that’s how it stays, until a certain project crosses his workbench, and everything changes.

-

One day, the Marines come in with someone else in tow.

He’s not one of them. This man is very clearly a pirate of some sort: he has the Look, a look Franky is very familiar with: a wild sort of aura and the tense need for adventure in his eyes. He would look intimidating too, if not for the cute and fluffy polka dot hat on his head.

The Marine officers with the man approach Franky at his front “office”. “Cyborg,” One says abruptly, icily. “This man is with us. His ship is in need of repairs.”

Franky looks around. “Where is this ship?”

“At the shore,” The other Marine responds. “Follow us. We’ll take you there.”

There’s no choice, really. Franky stands up to his full (new) height, making sure to really tower over the rest. “Alright,” He says, fixing his sunglasses. “Let’s go, then.”

The man (pirate) remains silent, but takes the lead as they emerge, walking to the shore. He’s an enigma, and Franky can’t help but be curious about him. “What’s your name?” He asks, easily keeping pace with the pirate.

The pirate gives him a sideways glance, but doesn’t respond.

“You’re looking at Trafalgar Law,” One of the Marines responses. “He’s one of the new warlords of the sea, you know. So you can imagine that this project should be given your…utmost effort, and your utmost discretion.”

Ah. Well then, that would explain that.

Franky allows himself to be led, still burning with curiosity but not wanting to speak in front of the Marines. As the shore comes into view, he’s struck dumb for a moment, actually skidding to a stop as he sees the ship.

It’s not a ship. Not really. It’s a submarine.

“Wow,” He breathes, lifting his sunglasses up to check if he was seeing things. “That’s magnificent.”

He notices Law give him a backwards glance. “The Polar Tang,” He says, abrupt, cool.

Franky can’t contain his excitement. “Super,” He says. “I can’t wait to get my hands on this.”

As they approach closer, he can see a large group gathered near the submarine’s base. They seem to be in the middle of a friendly, but loud argument, all violent affection and waving arms. It looks familiar, and it forms a lump in Franky’s throat.

He clears it, trying to get their attention. “Hello, all,” He says. “What a super ship you have there. Mind if I help you with your repairs?”

The talking dies down instantly. “Whoa,” one of them breathes, a polar bear with huge, excited eyes. “You look so cool. Are you a cyborg?”

Franky flashes him a thumbs up. “I sure am, kid,” He says. “Now. Let’s see what’s up with your ship here.”

-

Franky warms up to the Heart Pirates quite quickly.

They’re a super bunch. Very friendly, and up to anything. They take his advice with careful, earnest expressions, and include him in their group decisions and activities.

Their captain is different, though. He stands out to the side, never participating, never engaging, never smiling. He just watches, eyes weary, as if daring Franky to make a mistake.

When repairs are almost over, he brings this up to his crew. “I don’t think your captain likes me very much,” He comments.

“No!” Bepo, their navigator, says, eyes wide. “He’s just a little grumpy, but he’ll come around. He already likes you, I know it.”

Franky glances back at the captain’s glowering face. “Sure,” He says. “You know best, buddy.”

But there must be some truth to that, because the Heart Pirates visit a few more times in the span of a couple months. “We’re in the New World more often now,” Another crew member, Penguin, informs him. “So we have to make sure everything is in perfect condition before we stay there permanently.”

The other visits are devoid of Marines, and the atmosphere is noticeably different. Law is certainly more relaxed outside of their presence, and slowly starts to drift closer and closer to the larger group working on the ship with each new visit. He even makes a comment from time to time, and asks a question.

This project is a definite highlight in Franky’s temporary career. The work is interesting, the people are nice, and the machine is challenge. What more could he ask for?

Two months after their initial meeting, Franky can tell almost right away that they are on their final visit to him. They’re a bit more somber, and a bit more serious, less talkative.

Funnily enough, Law is practically gregarious by comparison. “Cyborg-ya,” He says suddenly, as Franky puts the final touches on the Polar Tang’s exterior. “You are a pirate, aren’t you?”

Franky can’t help but grin behind his tools. “Yeah,” He says. “How’d you know?”

“I thought you looked familiar,” And here, Law swoops in to catch his eye. “You work with Straw Hat-ya, am I correct? Or, perhaps, you used to?”

Franky’s smile turns sad. “I still do,” He says. “We should be regrouping fairly soon.”

Law nods absently. “You’ve done good work here,” He proclaims, seemingly out of nowhere. “We have good engineers on board, but we could always have room for more.”

Franky is touched by the invite. “You’re a good guy, Law!” He exclaims, holding his free hand over his heart. “And I’m honored at the invitation. But I’m not a free agent: I already have a ship, and a captain.”

Law does not seem deterred by his outburst. “Are you sure?” He asks. “This will be the last opportunity for you to join.”

So, this would be their last visit. “I’m sure,” Franky says, without hesitation. He puts down the rest of his tools. “It’s been an honor to work on your ship these past few months, though. What a vessel. I wish you the best of luck out at sea in her, wherever you end up going.”

“Hm,” Law pins him another look. “You’ve done all this work free of charge. Allow me to provide compensation, in some form.”

“Nah,” Franky says. “The experience was payment enough. And you know, friendship is the most valuable currency of all!”

Law’s lips twitch. “Friendship?” He asks, sounding vaguely amused.

Franky nods furiously. “Of course!” He exclaims. “Friendship! Don’t you think so?”

Law still looks amused. “Regardless,” He says. “There’s nothing you are asking for in compensation?”

Franky is about to deny it again, and then hesitates.

What if…

“Well,” Franky says, an idea forming in his mind. “Do you happen to know anything about Haki?”

Law’s face flashes in recognition. “I do,” He says. “I can show you too, if you like.”

“Please do!” Franky says. “That, and your continued friendship, will be payment enough!”

“I see,” Law says, looking slightly puzzled. “Well. Let’s begin, then.”

-

The morning that Franky leaves is cold.

It’s always cold, but this morning is particularly icy. He’s decided to get going a few weeks early, so he’d have plenty of time to get wherever he needs to go.

He glances down at the Vivre card. He thinks he knows where this will lead him, and he’s given himself plenty of time to make it there.

Kitton is all tears as he boards the ship after tucking away all his new inventions and items. “We’ll miss you,” He sniffles, rubbing his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.

Franky feels his own eyes well up in response. “I’ll miss you too kiddo,” He cries, lifting the kid up into a big hug. “Take care of Gramps, will ya? And the lab, and our automaton friends.”

Kitton hugs back just as hard. “Of course I will!” He cries back.

Franky puts him down, patting his head as he goes. “You’re so tall now!” He says. “You’re gonna do great!”

Kitton preens, and Franky takes the opportunity to bid the old man farewell too, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “It’s been an honor, Gramps.”

“The honor is all mine,” Then, “Off you go. You don’t want to be late.”

“Will do!” And with that, Franky hops back on his ship. “I’ll see you both later, I know I will!”

He heads out, navigating through the icy water with the ease of practice, following in the direction the card leaves him. He glances back at the slowly shrinking forms on the shore, ready to give his final goodbyes, before…

“Mr. Franky!”

He turns back. Kitton is jumping, waving his arms in the air, only barely audible. “Look!”

He strikes a pose, arms up and to the side. “SUPERRRR!”

Franky lets out a “HA” of joy and recognition that quickly develops into a flood of tears. He repeats the pose back “SUPERRRR!” He yells in response, before waving his arms enthusiastically in farewell.

He turns back towards the water, tears burning cold in his eyes. “I’m coming!” He yells out into the Grand Line. “Everyone! I’ll see you soon!”

Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

[tenspontaneite]

Assembly (Chapter 5/?)

“Tomorrow,” they murmur, full of a dread and hope that seem wont to choke them. “Tomorrow, SRS-02 should be complete. And the day after that…”

“We go,” Spearmaster signs.

Suns offers a very slight nod. “We will go.”

(Chapter length: 6k. Link to ao3 with workskin)

---

When Spearmaster finds her, she spends only a few moments wary before she sees who it is.

She harrumphs, and sits back on her haunches to begin to talk. “Oh, it is only you, strange one,” she says, easy and fluent with her Movespeak in a way that Spearmaster will probably never be. She eyes its new poncho with narrow-eyed interest. “Masters Spears. Were you searching for me on purpose?”

“Learns,” it greets, and has to suppress its nod. She wouldn’t understand it, anyway. “Yes. I searched.”

This slugcat has always been very direct. She does not waste words. “Why?”

It tries not to tense. “I need ask help from you.”

 [LIVE BROADCAST] PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment

SRS: Oh. Spearmaster left my can.

NSH: …Is that unusual?

SRS: No. But it usually tells me first, especially if it might be gone for days. And we’re going to be installing SRS-02, soon…I thought it would want to be around for that.

SRS: …

NSH: Maybe it’s only clearing its mind.

NSH: We did have kind of an emotionally trying day yesterday, and all that.

SRS: Yes.

SRS: …I hope it’s okay.

NSH: Send an overseer after it, just to keep an eye on it. It can’t have gone far.

SRS: I think it deserves time alone to think, if that is why it went out.

SRS: I’ll just wait, for now.

SRS: How are you doing, after yesterday?

NSH: As well as can be expected, really.

NSH: …I do wish you could be here already, though. My self-forks did their best to keep me company, but it feels strange with them, when they’re so new and struggling to consolidate their identities as is.

NSH: I’m wary of pushing my own personal issues onto them. They’re already mostly me, so it feels like they’re at serious risk of internalising anything new that happens to…well, me.

SRS: …A very strange issue. I would be concerned as well, in your place.

SRS: …

SRS: It won’t be long, now, until I can be there.

NSH: Yeah. I know.

 Spearmaster is timid, speaking with others of its kind. It never knows what to say, or how to behave. It ought to be better this time, because it knows exactly what it has come for, and has good arguments pre-prepared. And yet…Learner is a very no-nonsense, straightforward sort of creature. She has always made it a little nervous.

“What kind of friend do you have that could need help?” She demands, which doesn’t help its anxiety. “Don’t you live alone up in the giant structure with the Great Mind?”

“Yes,” it agrees, and hesitates. “I want ask help for the Great Mind.”

She stares, and flicks an ear, then draws close to sniff it over for signs of infirmity. In what Spearmaster has learned is fairly standard behaviour for their kind, she then reaches up and grabs its head between her paws, bapping it several times over the face while she chitters. Suns might say, what in the saints’ names are you talking about? But this is a slugcat, and their incredulity is considerably more tactile.

Its ears twitch with each pat, and it endures a rapid series of five opinionated slaps to the side of its snout before it pushes her paws away. “Serious!” It insists, perturbed, and reiterates. “Help for my Great Mind. Please.”

“It is a Great Mind! What could it possibly need help with, much less from me?” It’s a fair enough question, honestly. Slugcats on the whole know very little about iterators, but they do know that they are huge and powerful. The needs of one must seem incomprehensible, to a creature who was not born within one.

Spearmaster has the answer, though. It has it all prepared. “Soon, I travel,” it says, now a little more confident, because this at least is rehearsed. “I go away, maybe for long time. My Great Mind is lonely when I gone. Learner go visit it?”

She stares at Spearmaster unblinking for several long seconds. “You want me to keep your Great Mind company to stop it from getting lonely?” She questions, incredulous, then reaches out to express the sentiment through face-papping again. “Are you quite mad?”

“Not mad,” Spearmaster says crossly, pushing her paw away, and then: “You are Learns. Name for reason, yes? My Great Mind likes talk. Likes…teach things. Visit it! Visit Politely. It teach you.”

As expected, that is a very compelling thing to say to a slugcat who named herself Learner. “What things does it know?” She asks, warily. “Can it speak to me?”

“Yes, it speaks. It knows: many, many. Knows secrets of Old Dragons. Secrets of world.” It stares at her, expectant.

She stamps a foot on the ground, contemplative. “I do like the secrets of the world and dragons,” she muses.

Spearmaster is quite sure that it has already won. No need to convince her further. “I travel after some rain days,” it offers helpfully. “Maybe three. Maybe four. Visit after?”

“Are you very sure the Great Mind will not kill me for intruding?” Learner asks, suspiciously.

“Very, very,” Spearmaster assures. “If you do visiting Politely.”

She twitches as she thinks. “I am not saying yes,” she warns, although she is definitely saying yes and will not resist the sweet call of knowledge, “But, tell me the Rules of Politeness for the Great Mind. In the case that I go.”

It considers it. “Rules of Politeness: Do not harm Great Mind. Do not break things inside Great Mind. Do not steal things inside Great Mind. Do not eat things inside Great Mind.”

Learner flicks her ears forwards in acknowledgement, absorbing the words. “I am going to see my pups’ colony, and will be gone some rain days. But after that, I will see.”

“Thanking you,” Spearmaster says, and helpfully extrudes a spear for her as a gift before it leaves. She will not appreciate being delayed any longer, and it must hurry if it wants to get home before the rains come.

 [LIVE BROADCAST] PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment

SRS: Alright, Spearmaster came home safely, just before the rain. What a relief.

NSH: Oh, good. It just needed to take a little excursion, then?

SRS: I suppose? It wouldn’t say why it left.

SRS: Except it was strangely insistent about explaining wild slugcat body language to me, afterwards.

NSH: In what way?

SRS: Apparently they have a tendency to be very tactile in conversation, and you shouldn’t take being gently slapped or grabbed at as an attack or impoliteness. It was very, very clear that I should not be offended if a slugcat slaps me respectfully on the face.

SRS: I admit, I am truly not sure where that explanation came from. Or why it felt it was necessary.

NSH: …All I can guess was that it met another of its kind while it was out and got ‘politely’ slapped around a bit.

NSH: What interesting social dynamics. I wonder what it looks like when a group of them interact?

SRS: Probably very animated, I imagine.

 It will take three more days to complete the AMP for SRS-02. Seven Red Suns plans to leave the day after successful installation of the AOS. Accordingly, they begin to enter final preparations.

All of their selected data go onto pearls, carefully packed away. They tuck a few discreet, colourful pots into their bag. And they start to tidy things up around their superstructure.

“This is unnecessary, you know,” their puppet says, a little amused, as SRS-01 inspects the corners of the chamber narrowly for decorating opportunities. “Soon, SRS-02 will be online, and they will be staying here to take care of such things. You don’t need to do this.”

“Forgive me, but as I’m disconnected right now, I can safely say that yes I do,” SRS-01 objects, and ignores themself. “I will be dissatisfied to leave the can and keep thinking about this or that banner I should have put up.”

“But decorating the chamber, really?” They fold their arms, sceptical. “It seems a little impractical. We use these walls, you know. If we cover them up too much we will lose projection space. And extensive hangings will interfere with operations around the available area.”

“Well then take it down, if you find it’s getting in the way,” SRS-01 says irritably, and pulls themself towards the exit. “You’re a perfectly capable iterator, that’s within your power. I’ll be back shortly.”

And so they go out and return again, armed with several of the longer, slimmer scarf-like wall drapes with weighted grains sewn invisibly around the edges, and trailing ornaments and beads depending from the embroidered edges.

“There. These are low profile enough that they shouldn’t get in the way overmuch. Now make yourself useful and give me some lift.”

Their puppet sighs, but obliges, and lifts them around the upper corners of the chamber while they aggressively and passive-aggressively decorate the vicinity. Later, when they’re done with the room and re-integrate with themself, they feel a little embarrassed about the whole thing.

It’s not terribly like them, to snipe at themselves like this. But they are…under pressure, in a sense.

Soon, they will leave their can, and that idea is making them increasingly nervous. After all, no matter what happens beyond their walls…it will be a momentous occasion for them. Out there, everything will be new. It is as frightening as it is exciting, and Suns has been safe – trapped, but safe – for so very long. The immediate prospect of breaking that stasis is more stressful than they anticipated, and it’s hard not to take it out on…well, themselves.

“I do hope this isn’t a herald of how we’ll behave with our friends, when things get a little tense,” SRS-01 remarks to their puppet later, a little glumly.

“Let us be honest with ourselves, here: we have always had a sharp tongue.” Their puppet grimaces, as best their unarticulated face can. “For all that Sig says we’re kinder now, I don’t think that has especially changed. We’ve just grown better at restraining it around others.”

Yes, that tends to happen when your careless words and actions lead to the destruction of people you love, they both think, but do not speak. “Better than nothing, I suppose,” SRS-01 concedes, and then leaves to start decorating more of the can. Spearmaster, once it wakes up and figures out what is going on, becomes an eager accomplice.

They drape the most-trafficked halls with colour and fabric and dangling ornaments, then retire for a nice afternoon of painting together in a pre-decided stretch of boring wall. Out of whimsy, Suns paints the extinct gold lizard; Spearmaster sees what they are doing and paints a lizard-like thing as well, but theirs has wings.

When Suns questions them, astonished at this remarkably sound depiction of an extinct true dragon, they learn a little more than they had expected about slugcat mythology.

 [LIVE BROADCAST] PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment

SRS: Did you know that slugcats think that the People were dragons? As in, descendants of actual winged true dragons.

NSH: …Are you serious?? That’s amazing. What gave them that idea?

SRS: It’s not too far-fetched, actually. They see all the paintings and statues, and as you know the People were decidedly reptilian, especially with some of the popular mask designs. It doesn’t seem much of a stretch when you think about it that way.

SRS: What’s more entertaining, I think, is that they assume that the People are all gone because they lineaged badly and became lizards. If I’m understanding Spearmaster correctly, the Movespeak word for ‘lizard’ is actually ‘dragon’.

NSH: Oh my iterating hells, can you imagine? Our self-obsessed People falling to that sort of low? Incredible. They’d be frothing at the mouth at the very idea.

SRS: Undoubtedly. I’m sure many would consider it blasphemy.

SRS: It’s interesting how they’re not entirely wrong. The People and the true dragons do share common ancestors. And lizards are the last surviving family of that whole branch.

SRS: Though I suppose you’d know much more about that than me. How extensive are those databanks of yours, then?

NSH: Extensive enough that I have genome blueprints for actual true dragons~

SRS: Really! That’s shocking. Didn’t they go extinct before you were even constructed?

NSH: Yes, but I was quite dedicated to expanding my gene banks when I was new. I was so eager to get to work. Good thing too! I have blueprints for countless extinct species on record. I’ve got things archived that half the world has forgotten.

SRS: Like dragons.

NSH: Like dragons.

SRS: …

SRS: I will be honest, I am extremely surprised you never made one.

NSH: Oh I tried.

NSH: My administrators expressly forbade me from finishing. Later, Moon forbade me too.

NSH: It’s always ‘think about the repercussions, Sig’, ‘they could cause actual noteworthy damage to your superstructure, Sig’ and never ‘that sounds like a lot of fun, Sig, you should definitely try it!’ Everyone likes to ruin my fun.

SRS: I am more glad than ever that Moon was appointed the local senior.

NSH: Now you’re just making me think I should hurry up and make a dragon before we get her back in contact again.

SRS: No Significant Harassment. I say this in the strongest possible terms: No. That would be a terrible idea.

NSH: I make no promises~

SRS: ….

NSH: Oh, relax, I wouldn’t actually do it. The vultures are going to be hard enough to deal with while we’re travelling, we don’t want the People’s ancestral predator in the mix too.

NSH: Besides, they’re very large. I definitely don’t have the resources to make one right now. Even if I hypothetically wanted to.

SRS: I truly worry about you sometimes, Sig.

 “Oh now, that does have gravitas,” SRS-01 says admiringly, after prodding their greater self to modify the lighting in the puppet chamber. “Darker and red like this, it truly does have more of the ambience of the Cathedral. Do you think you could program a sort of shifting tiled pattern, as if light through stained glass?”

“You are going to make us as obsessed with appearances as the People, at this rate,” their puppet complains, but, noticeably, does immediately start tinkering with the projections and lighting. Part-formed patterns start shifting in subtle colours over the chamber walls; a work in progress.

“You know very well that you’re enjoying it as much as me.” They watch with satisfaction, nodding as the light shifts into myriad flecks of subtly different hue, projected over the muted reds of the chamber walls. It looks very much like the dappled, colourful lighting of the cathedral’s stained glass.

“It’s really quite lovely, isn’t it,” their puppet says despairingly, watching the shifting light. “Have we always been this vain?”

SRS-01 considers it. “Yes, perhaps, only without an outlet to express it properly, or the outside impetus to do so,” they decide, and shrug. “Honestly though, Spearmaster is right. This isn’t only our body, it’s our living space too. There’s nothing wrong about making it suit us, or letting us enjoy how we look – puppet or AMP or interior, we should present ourselves how we please.”

“Nothing wrong with it, perhaps,” Suns admits. “But it’s terribly indulgent, all the same.”

“That’s certainly true.” They ruminate on the idea for the space of a few seconds, then conclude “I think Sig is rubbing off on us, though, because I really can’t bring myself to care that much.” From their greater self’s long-suffering sigh, they clearly agree. “Now then. Let’s consider our puppet itself. Is now the time to finally get out the ritual clothes?”

“I really don’t know about that.”

SRS-01 shrugs and accepts it. They’re the same person, of course, so they know the feeling: the ritual clothes are…special occasion wear. It feels uncomfortably like making light of it to make them part of a standard wardrobe. “Very well. Let’s just print out some of the more elaborate silk robe designs in your size, then, and you can change between them as you please.”

“That will do,” says the puppet, resigned. “But let’s not go too far.”

SRS-01 politely does not point out how unlikely they are to hold to any sort of restraint in this regard, and goes on their way. Within a day, they are proven right: their puppet is clothed in some exceptionally beautiful robes, their selfling has taken an outing with Spearmaster to raid Septkai for jewellery, and they’re both accessorised to the fullest extent of their aesthetics.

“I can’t bring myself to regret this,” Suns despairs, flicking their puppet’s left antenna to feel the jewellery move on it. “I really can’t.”

Their selfling, who has availed themself of their own delicate ornamented chains, nods with sympathetic amusement. It might not be the spread of six antennae that their mural depicts, but the chains – affixed near the tips of their antennae and then hanging to their bases in turn – really do suit them far too well to deny. “Now let’s only avoid covering ourselves head to toe in jewels and chains, and we will be fine,” they say.

Suns makes a grumpy noise in agreement. For all that their sense of personal style and aesthetics is running rampant at the moment, the sheer maximalist chaos of Person fashions towards the end might be going a little far.

“Cheer up,” SRS-01 encourages. “Imagine the reactions of our friends when they see us. It ought to be terribly entertaining.”

They consider that. “We truly have been spending far too much time talking to Sig.”

“Probably, yes,” they agree, and head for the chamber exit. “I’m off to see if Spearmaster wants any jewellery. Have fun supervising the final AMP construction stages.”

In the end, Spearmaster chooses a sturdy little amulet of a stylised sun, on a far less delicate chain than the ones Sun is wearing. They tuck its back into the folds of its poncho, the amulet providing a simple bit of ornamentation over their sternum. It’s terribly cute.

“I really should be more embarrassed by all of this,” their selfling muses, observing themself from the superstructure cameras with rueful pleasure.

“Useless,” Spearmaster denies, as cheerful an enabler as ever. “It makes you happy. That is what is important.”

Suns pets its velvety little head, fond. “If you say so.”

 [LIVE BROADCAST] PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment

SRS: The AMP is nearly done.

SRS: Soon it will be time for me – my selfling – to leave.

NSH: Exciting! Are you all ready?

SRS: Theoretically. I have everything packed, at any rate, and I’ve been taking care of some things around my can.

NSH: How are you feeling about it?

SRS: …

SRS: I’ll be honest, I’m very nervous.

SRS: It’s such a gift that I’ll have the chance to leave my superstructure in some form at all, and I’m truly excited to meet you in person.

SRS: But the prospect of going out there…it’s frightening. Is it similar for you?

NSH: No, I can’t really relate, honestly.

NSH: As you know, I took my selfling to the surface at more or less the first opportunity. I didn’t especially want to wait to see what it was like.

SRS: It’s the change that’s unsettling me, I think. For all that I’ve always wished I could leave my can to see things for myself, it’s more daunting than I expected to have to face such a new world after all these cycles.

SRS: Aren’t you nervous at all to set out in earnest? For more than just a brief trip out, I mean. It’s going to be so different to anything we’ve ever known.

NSH: No, the unknown aspect of it doesn’t bother me. I just find that exciting, even if it is dangerous.

NSH: …I’m mostly concerned about what we’ll find when we get to our friends’ retaining wall. I don’t think it’s going to be good. I don’t know what kind of state they must be in, by now.

SRS: Yes. I’m worried about that, too.

 Suns has been trying very hard not to think about the state of Five Pebbles and Looks to the Moon. With all of the distractions and personal development of late, they’ve been almost successful, for once.

Almost.

The conversation with Sig brings it all back into focus. They worry about Moon, stuck in that broken chamber, with only a handful of neurons to her name. What if she loses them? What if something eats them? A lone puppet, with none of their defences active…she couldn’t do a thing to protect herself, like that. She is so, so very unsafe.

…And Pebbles.

With their selfling connected, every thinking part of Seven Red Suns falls idle into regret. If only they had done something, anything, different…

But that’s futile, isn’t it. That thought is why they developed the AOS in the first place, for hope of putting a part of themself out into the world where it can make a difference. Surely, surely, in person…Five Pebbles will respond differently. Suns can respond differently, and not just drown him in their own sanctimony yet again. He was so angry, at that last message…

“Sun unhappy?” Spearmaster asks, and with a start their selfling body realises it has gone still and subdued with the rest of themself. Their antennae are drooping, too, in that reflexive expressiveness that was programmed into their puppet first, and then their AMP in turn. “What is wrong?”

“It’s alright,” they say, in the end. “I’m just…thinking about Five Pebbles.”

Its ears flatten back. After the response he gave it once, and then the injury he offered the next time, Spearmaster has been nursing a quiet and pronounced dislike for him ever since. “Oh. Him.” It doesn’t look pleased. “Angry one.”

“Yes.” They lift their eyes to the grey metal ceiling. “I know you dislike him. You have every reason to – he treated you poorly, and you only the messenger. You didn’t deserve that. But…he is my friend, nonetheless, no matter what he thinks of me now. And I worry about him.”

Spearmaster hesitates. “Inside him,” it says, cautiously. “He was not like you, not like your other friend. Damaged. Something evil growing inside.”

“Yes. I know.” A careful pause, to collect themself. “That is the rot. It was created by a mistake on his part, though I don’t know what caused it. But he never would have been able to make it at all, if I hadn’t sent him dangerous information. You were the one that carried it, if you remember. Your first trip out.”

It nods. “I remember.”

“I intended it as a gift to…make him a little less frustrated with his lot, if possible. Maybe allow him to find some happiness, no matter what that entailed. But I only made everything worse. Because of my actions, Moon is barely alive, and he…” Rotting. Rotting, all this time, with Suns helpless to do anything at all.

How bad must it be, by now? How quickly does it advance? Surely, there must be no way for him to rid himself of it, alone in his superstructure with no citizens or allies to aid him. All he could hope to do is flush any cysts present in active water-supplied conduits.

“We are travelling to help him, yes?” It asks, looking a little concerned itself now. Although, why it would be worried for someone it dislikes so much… “Him, and your nicer friend. Moon.”

“We are. We’ll be picking up Sig’s selfling and then all heading there together.” They sigh, and in the midst of these heavy thoughts, even that plan of action isn’t much comfort. “But I don’t even know how much of him is left, after all this time. For all I know, the rot could have consumed him completely…although, no, if his structure had collapsed we would have all noticed. But almost anything short of that is possible.”

“We will see. We will help what can,” Spearmaster says, resolutely.

A laugh, bitter. “You don’t even like him.”

“No. But you love him, so I will try to help as well.”

One of these days, its altruism and kindness will cease surprising them. Today is not that day. “I appreciate it, more than I can say,” they tell it, too quiet for the chaos within their thoughts. “I only hope that there is something of him left to help.”

In an ideal world, they would rip the Rot from him and leave whatever remains…damaged, but at least not being eaten alive. But what are the chances of that? Such a pronounced decay, with so much time to grow…it isn’t as if it’s only a handful of cysts, capable of being sterilised with enough explosives. Enough damage to burn the Rot out might well bring his whole structure down, and then what?

…Though, it’s not as though a superstructure is the only way for an iterator to exist, anymore. But is there even enough left of him to create a selfling?

They stare at nothing for a long time, thinking darkly.

In the end, even if there is enough, and a part of Pebbles could be evacuated to a mobile form like this one, Suns doesn’t want his superstructure to die. It’s him. It’s Five Pebbles. How could they possibly accept letting it rot and die? I could not bear it, they think, but they don’t know what else to do.

At this point, their greatest hope is that there is something noteworthy a pair of mobile iterator platforms could do to help…or that No Significant Harassment will have more ideas than Suns does. Maybe it will be different, when they can see him in person. Maybe they’ll know what to do.

“Tomorrow,” they murmur, full of a dread and hope that seem wont to choke them. “Tomorrow, SRS-02 should be complete. And the day after that…”

“We go,” Spearmaster signs.

Suns offers a very slight nod. “We will go.”

 ---

 The last muscular tissues of SRS-02 spool together in the bioengineering bay, Suns’ manipulating arms in the walls reaching out to fit the external chassis plating back into place on the frame. SRS-01 and Spearmaster are there to watch, with the waiting AOS held carefully in the first selfling’s hands. Installation of their own AOS had necessarily been done by the bay’s arms, but this time…it feels a little more personal to do it themself.

It’s nearly senseless, really; the manipulating arms are theirs as much as the AMP’s arms are theirs, but it does feel different somehow. And Suns is done with denying themself any harmless sentiment that matters to them.

The angled planes of the platform’s torso are just the same as their own. Gently, they ease the broad upper plate into opening up, the seals releasing, and then those of the reinforced system compartment in turn, reaching in to install this fragile, helpless new appendage of their whole self. They connect the neural tissue in a few places, connect the wiring, and – there. AOS-79 senses the connections, reaches out, and switches the AMP on.

SRS-01 withdraws their hands, and watches the thoracic compartment close with a quiet hiss of air as the internal seals take hold. Bearing every driver and software update they’ve produced, their awakening is much easier than this body’s was: their eyes open, they sit up, and they’re done.

“All well?” SRS-01 asks, and watches their counterpart twist their neck and waggle their limbs, checking everything in turn.

“Yes, everything is responding normally,” SRS-02 agrees. “Sending diagnostic report on internal network.”

SRS-01 accepts it first, and has a quick parse through. At their approval, their greater self takes it and looks too. All is within parameters. A perfect, effortless installation. “Welcome to our self,” SRS-01 says warmly, and then they all three merge together: one being in three bodies, effortlessly piloted in unison.

Spearmaster looks between the two AMPs, and remarks “If you make many more of you, this will become to feel strange.”

Their two bodies look at each other, antennae splaying ruefully. “Well, we shall see,” one of them says, and really, it hardly matters which.

They are all the same mind, after all.

 [LIVE BROADCAST] PRIVATE Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment

SRS: SRS-02 is active and awake. The installation went flawlessly.

SRS: There’s now nothing left to do. SRS-01 is all packed, I have a selfling here to continue maintenance on my structure, and…everything is ready.

SRS: Staying any longer would be senseless delay. We need to wait for morning, for my rains to stop, but after that…

NSH: Finally. I can’t wait.

NSH: Isn’t it exciting? You’ll be the first iterator to ever set foot outside your facility grounds! And all because of the work you did on the AOS.

SRS: I couldn’t have done it without you.

NSH: Yes you could. It would’ve just taken longer.

NSH: If I get the biological AMPs working though, I’ll take credit for that~. Don’t think anyone else has my flair for bioengineering.

SRS: Yes, quite.

SRS: …I am afraid to go.

SRS: But staying, that would be worse. So I’ll go anyway.

SRS: Or, at least, a part of me will. It’s strange, to be fretting so much, and know that in a very real sense, I will still be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and the one after, and so on. But part of me will be out there, all the same.

NSH: You get very maudlin when you’re worried, don’t you.

SRS: Please, Sig, I’m trying to work up my courage here.

NSH: Oh, shush, you dramatic thing. You’ll be fine. You’ll see. It’s a big step, but it’ll turn out alright in the end.

NSH: And, of course, you’ll get to see me~

SRS: …

SRS: I can’t even pretend to not be looking forward to that.

NSH: Of course you’re looking forward to it! I’m so charming, after all.

SRS: You’re ridiculous, is what you are.

SRS: …

SRS: The part of me that is SRS-01 is so afraid to disconnect. It’s frightening no matter what.

SRS: …Hah. Spearmaster has advice for me. “Go into the unknown places, and then you will know them, and they will not be so frightening anymore.”

NSH: That slugcat does seem to be good at advice.

SRS: They have a certain wisdom to them, don’t they?

SRS: …

SRS: Whatever happens when I leave my superstructure, I will not come back the same.

SRS: To go out and experience the world and change, like a living thing…haven’t I always wanted that?

NSH: Suns. You are a living thing, with or without an AMP. You weren’t any less a person before you had a mobile platform. Or any less alive, for that matter.

SRS:

SRS: Either way, all that’s left now is to leave.

SRS: Wish us luck.

NSH: Good luck, Seven Red Suns!! I look forward to seeing your selfling arrive in one piece

SRS: We’ll do our very best.

 In the drear humid mist of morning, Seven Red Suns steps from the door nearest the base of their structure, Spearmaster close beside them. The air is so wet that their body disturbs water vapour as they move, visibly rousing that hazy remnant of the night’s rains. Where the mist swirls, tiny droplets collect on the chassis of their bared arms and glitter like jewels; on the cloth about their shoulders, a clinging, heavy damp begins to set in. There is a stirring of noise all around: birdsong and hissing reptile cries and countless other things that live and move in the waking world.

Upon the surface, the landscape is breathing. The plants unfurl from shelter in the soil, leaves greeting the dew like an old friend. Insects emerge from their burrows, and the ground itself seems to exhale a long sigh at the relief of dawn. In the distance, a lizard’s green tail flashes into sight and then away again, in pursuit of something Suns cannot see.

It is a living world. Today, they go out to become a part of it.

Suns lingers through the trepidation, chasing threads of excitement as a bolster to their courage. Then, with a parting message to themself, they disconnect from the superstructure.

It’s time to leave.

    x

---

NSH: You weren’t any less a person before you had a mobile platform. Or any less alive, for that matter.

SRS: I’m going to go ahead and not respond to that

  Shorter chapter this time, since I wanted to stop it at this significant moment etc. Finally kicking this idiot out of their can!!

Learner is my first scug OC. You can find a quick drawing I did of her here. She’ll probs show up from time to time where relevant. https://tenspontaneite.tumblr.com/post/718944143267823616/scug-oc-she-would-like-to-know-where-these-weird

 Some worldbuilding:

You know the in game lineage system? Where if you kill something it has a small chance to come back as a higher tier / scarier version of what it is? Well I’m saying that that’s just one fucky effect of the Cycle sometimes, and it’s responsible for dramatically, stupidly fast evolution. Which is how an entire sapient race of scavengers is already out and about following the mass ascension of the ancients, and how scugs are also very clearly in a very early sapient stage of society, and also how you get weird scugs like Gourmand and Artificer that have special abilities despite not being engineered by anyone, and also how you get dramatic adaptations like Rivulet’s or Saint’s very quickly.

I am saying though that it’s Massively less likely to happen the more karma aware the creature is, i.e. how sapient. You’re only really likely to get a lineaged scug if they die extremely young, too young to have noteworthy karma levels. So for example Arti was probably caught in an explosion, Rivulet drowned etc, all as very small pups, then lineaged. They might not even remember it. Also scans for how the special ability scugs mostly seem to be loners in backstory – I’d expect colony scugs to have a lower pup mortality rate, so less likely overall to get repeated pup deaths leading to lineaging. Anyway, this has been: depressing worldbuilding! Let’s move on.

  Some scug words:

Mind: Signifier of sapience. Scugs will call non sapient animals ‘mindless’ or say that they have no minds. Things scugs think are more personlike can be described as ‘mindful’.

Great Mind: Iterator; regarded as a kind of higher being with an elevated level of ‘mindfulness’ or sapience, whose true nature is nearly incomprehensible. The connection between Great Minds and superstructures is known but not understood.

Rules of Politeness: Diplomatic rules and standards as regards specific colonies/entities who you want to get along with/not be on bad terms with. Ideally, you want to know someone’s Rules of Politeness before you arrive at where they live.

Dragon: Lizard.

Old Dragon: A Person/ancient; believed to be the original and greater form of lizards.

Great Dragon: True dragons, as now long since extinct, and depicted on some run-down murals. Believed to have been the overlords / original and greater form of the People, and a form of higher being.

 The lizard = dragon thing, and existence of dragons in RW, all inspired by Dragon Slayer passage/achievement.

I bet all this dragon mentioning isn’t going to be relevant at all!

 Massively, massively appreciate all the comments people have been leaving, on ao3 or in tags or otherwise. It’s been very important motivation because chapter 7 was being a dickhead to write, and chapter 8 is probs going to be annoying too >.>

Also big thank to everyone who left kudos or bookmarks or likes / reblogs etc. Watching the numbers go up is insane for the brain juice.

[nereidprinc3ss]

i'm on my hands and knees BEGGING pls share some advice about improving one's writing skills? you're one of the best writers i've read

thank you so so much that means more than you realize😭💗💗 I don’t have any like CRAZY unexpected tips but here’s what helps me!!

literally just write, at the end of the day it’s the quickest way to get better and just by nature of doing it more often you WILL get better often without realizing for a while. i write almost every single day sometimes for hours if time permits, and obviously you don’t have to do that but i think it will make the most noticeable difference in your writing!

also reaaaddd i cannot stress this enough, read as much as you can, copy down sentences you like in your notes app or on paper, study the sentence structure and the diction and syntax and figure out what you like about it! that will go a long way in helping you discover what works for other writers and consequentially whats going to work for you

it can also help with any problem areas, like for me I consistently notice dialogue tags being an issue so i need to go back and read some well written books and figure out how they handle them!

also creative writing/fiction writing classes can be really really helpful, they will teach you things about craft you didn’t even realize factored in to writing

ok so looking back those are basic ass tips LMFAO but they are basic because they are effective!! anyway thank you for the kind words ily and i hope you have the best day ever

[granulesofsand]

Questioning fella here, how do you know if you have incomplete/unsuccessful/failed programming? We're asking because for us we have seemingly/suspected 'programmed' fragments and experiences that seem hinting at that sort of thing (mainly experiences that match two-faced, lantern, and anger management programs); but usually when triggered, the compulsive urges/feelings usually associated with that sort of thing usually come through, but the action usually does not. Any help would be greatly appreciated and i hope I worded this right.

🗝️🏷️RAMCOA programming

The easiest way would be asking inside and someone actually responding, but that’s not the world’s most likely scenario. Patience with system communication will be the best bet, but I won’t leave you(&) with that.

The two most important pieces of programming are the conditioning and the intent of perpetrators. It sounds like you(&) have conditioning; to have internal (two-face), external (anger management), and structural (lanterns) would be odd with no outside person guiding that process — not impossible, but all of them together would be stretching it.

However. The actions. To be fair, none of the potential programs you(&) mentioned typically come with behaviors. Programmers usually put some in anyway if they know how to do it, but what you(&) have would be enough to constitute the term. It’s the intention that’s hard to parse without external evidence or internal testimony.

Working through the result is similar both ways. With more programs, you might gotta worry about silence or loyalty training, even incomplete. Make sure to communicate the best you(&) can, address everyone’s fears and other big feelings. Hard work, but well worth it. Let me know if you need more resources.

[seikumo]

Fandom: Obey Me Shall We Date, Self insert fic, Chapter 1 (?)

For someone who tried to be self-aware, it was embarrassing how little it seemed to help sometimes. For example, Andania was well aware that their two biggest triggers were a loss of control and isolation, and as such they strove to avoid anything that might send hem spiraling. Unfortunately, that didn’t prevent demon princes from kidnapping them and cutting them off from their entire support structure.

The Devildom was rapidly proving to be their own personal hell, and understanding why they were struggling was doing next to nothing to actually fix it. They were trapped in a new place where they couldn’t decide anything for themselves, from what they ate to what they wore. The brothers decorated their room, picked out their clothes, and prepared meals that Andania was expected to attend without fail. Even their classes had been pre-selected for them.

They had no support system to help them adjust, save for the brothers who acted more as judgmental authority figures. Mammon, their personal guard, seemed like he wanted to be anywhere else, and the rest of the brothers refused to help him even slightly. All of them were vocal in their disapproval of the local human, who they couldn’t even seem to remember the name of.

Needless to say, within the first week Andania’s mental health had shattered. And, as it often did, their voice seemed to vanish with it.

Selective mutism was a song and dance Andania was used to managing, but never under so much stress, and with so little understanding. For the first day or so they could manage texts, given enough time to piece the words together, but as stress and fear piled on, even that vanished. The brothers couldn’t seem to care less.

Without the ability to communicate their wants or needs, Andania quickly fell to the bottom of everyone’s concerns. They were left to figure out things for themselves, from how to accomplish their homework (nearly impossible) to how to make it home when Mammon ditched them at school (walking home alone and hoping they didn’t get attacked.)

By the end of the first week, they were having at least one panic attack a day, and struggling to beat back thoughts of more permanent ways to escape their current situation. They did their best to avoid everyone, quickly learning that isolation was better than hatred. The only exception being the rare times one of the brothers reached out to them.

Which was how they ended up here. Despite their complete failure to talk to Lucifer, Leviathan had somehow managed to locate Mammon’s credit card on his own. And despite their hatred of the mere idea of a pact, of being tied to someone who hated them, of being able to control them, and their complete inability to issue a command if they did have one, it seemed like they were going to end up with one anyway.

Mammon was kneeling on the floor, holding Andania’s hands to his forehead. The small touch seemed to burn, sending painful static skittering across the skin of their knuckles and lingering in the tips of their fingers. Their palms felt cool and clammy. Their stomach was twisted in knots, wreathing, threating to evict the few reluctant bites they’d managed to force down at dinner.

The world seemed foggy and distant, the words Mammon was speaking muted and unintelligible. The cool tile beneath their bare feet grounded them, a sharp sensation in the midst of everything. They struggled to keep their breathing smooth.

The point where Andania’s hands met Mammon’s forehead lit up with a brilliant gold, and all they could think was I don’t want this. Please, I don’t want this.

And then everything went to hell.

Magic poured into their veins like molten gold- thick, heavy, boiling hot sludge. Their throat locked up tight, trapping a scream in their lungs and the air outside. They dropped to their knees, startling Mammon, who half dropped their hands, but didn’t let go.

The brothers were saying something, but Andania could only focus on the magic forcing its way through their veins. It was like having a sewing needle lodged under their skin, slipping underneath, forcing its way just underneath the surface. Burning, inch by inch, as it climbed up their arms and towards their heart.

The world lost all color and sensation, replaced by static and heat, as Andania desperately try to force in enough air to scream. They couldn’t tug their hands away, couldn’t lean back, couldn’t seem to move at all. The signals missed their mark, falling into an abyss halfway between mind and flesh. Frozen, still, heat, static, agony. Distantly, they realized they were shaking.

Something touched them, more pressure, more heat, right as the heat reached the center of their chest. They couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. Pain was gold and the gold was in them and they needed the gold but they didn’t want the gold and-

They were gone before their head hit the tile.

[theintelligenceoflove]

Soft soft thought for you... I am just waking up from a lovely little nap, so pardon my sentence structure or the lack of it. lol You've been working without a break for days and Jake knows it's wearing on you. You're trying not to whine about it, but it comes out in your words anyway across texting back and forth. I believe he would be the kind of guy that would show up, knowing when your lunch break is, with a nice little sack lunch that he has prepared for you, with all of your favorites in mind. He'd even put a little note with a smiley and heart on the paper inside the lunch, knowing that if he hung around during your lunch break would be probably frowned upon - so the note is enough to convey that he's thinking of you, supporting you, loving you.

I hope that thought helps out a bit. 💚

Theyre 7 long ass closing shifts. And I love my team I do. I'm on my lunch (well dinner but) so here's me expanding on this I hope that's okay.

Your feet hurt, your back hurts. You want to be home, Jake leaves on tour soon so you'd rather be home with him. But at this point you'd settle for just being home. Another one of the supervisors is out of town and your manager isn't great at scheduling anyways.

You're in the back unpacking truck, not paying attention to your head set and who's ordering what. You're so zoned out that you don't recognize the voice at the drive through. It's been busy so it doesn't take long for one customer to be replaced with another.

Youre unpacking a box of espresso beans when the one thing you DO listen to comes over the head set "y/n can you come help us at the window?" Sighing you pocket your box cutter and put on your customer service face ready to deal with an angry customer.

As you round the corner you see your coworker smiling and then the customer. "I told him we couldn't take things back through the window." Your coworker teases but moves to take another order leaving you with Jake.

"Hey y/n" you can feel the tears at your eyes, you wonder if he had mentioned he was coming by, you hadn't checked your phone in a while. "If you really can't take this I can come around to the door but-"

Jake is holding up a paper sack, you swear you won't cry, it had already been a long day and you're only half way done. You want to tell him to meet you out back, you want a hug and to spend your dinner break with him. But your team is understaffed, your break will be paid and you'll have to eat as you can. "I think we can make an exception." You say instead.

"Thank you Jake." You whisper and he's grinning.

"Anything for my guy." You can tell how much he means it, still you can't help but peak up at the drive through screen, see the line of cars, slowly changing colors. Jake catches you a sheepish smile.

"I love you y/n." Jake says "I'll be home when you're off."

"I love you too." You say not wanting to close the window, go back to stocking. He starts driving first and you sigh.

"Y/n," one of your best work friends says "why don't you go eat, we'll hold it together."

"I can't clock out." You say "so don't feel bad if you need help."

You go to the back and you feel the tears well up again. Jake had packed all your favorites, there was even a little note.

Y/n, you're doing great!! You're almost done, I can't wait to see you tonight.

The note is littered with doodles, hearts and smiles faces. You jerk back when a tear hits the paper, and you take a deep breath. Carefully you fold the note and put it in your pocket as you eat.

You don't get an uninterrupted dinner, though you'd expected that. Your friends rib you about it when you have time, which only makes you smile more. Sticking your hand in your pocket as if reminding yourself it was there.

[j-graysonlibrary]

His Transgressions Built It: Chapter 11

Title: His Transgressions Built It

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 51K

Genres: psychological horror, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website and on Kobo

Synopsis: After living almost a decade estranged from his family because of his transition, Noah is called back to his hometown to take care of his young niece and nephew when their parents die suddenly. Because the children only know of their distant "aunt", Noah pretends to be his own husband in order to not explain himself or cause further issues. But, in doing so, he has to navigate the small town, filled to the brim with his childhood trauma, under the guise of a complete stranger.

Full Chapter 11 under the cut

XI:

Noah is before Kiki’s apartment again. He hopes to see her. It feels like an emergency but, for some reason, he can’t quite remember why. There are blips—hints. He doesn’t want to focus on them.

If he sees too much, he’ll return to a panic and he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

It’s safest just to go up the stairs and hide away.

Kiki will make him feel better. She always does.

Even if she also, always, makes him feel guilty as well. But she’s not doing that. He is. That’s not her fault at all.

Noah shakes his head. The thoughts are flung away, like water droplets, and he hurries up the stairs. He doesn’t even pause when they scream under him and his weight. The structure doesn’t fail him.

He doesn’t allow it to.

Sometimes, he thinks if he imagines something, it’ll happen. No matter how ridiculous. That’s why his anxieties are so bad, when everything else is fine. He’s minding his own business and then, out of the blue, catastrophe is born behind his eyes. Then it’s happening. Or it could, very well.

Now’s not exactly like that, as he has some genuine problems, but it doesn’t hurt to carry the same precaution. Or, it doesn’t help? He can’t say, either way, but at least forcing himself not to worry about the stairs or the floor means there’s more space for whatever else comes his way.

He reaches the door, almost out of breath, and he knocks a few times. Their bell is broken. They don’t like the sharp tone of it anyway. Noah agrees—he hates doorbells. Actually, he’s not sure this is something he and Kiki discussed recently or a lifetime ago.

It doesn’t matter.

The door opens.

Shaun’s there, in pajamas. He’s not surprised to see Noah but he doesn’t exactly greet him with a smile either. “Hey, man. Sorry but, ugh, Kiki’s out. Doctor appointment.”

Noah exhales the last of his breath, going back to a normal pattern afterward. Or course, when he needs her the most, he’s just missed her.

He feels a little better, just being on the lot, but he knows that won’t be enough.

“Oh,” it’s all he can muster. It sounds rude but he can’t take it back.

Thankfully, Shaun doesn’t let it bother him. He shrugs and hangs back from the door. The floor protests but only for a second. “You can come in and chill anyway.”

Noah begins to nod; he’s more than happy with that idea. He can be in that safe space and wait for Kiki. Shaun is good company, even if he doesn’t talk much. Noah doesn’t talk much either.

He opens his mouth to agree, too, but his words get caught and his head freezes on his neck. Behind Shaun’s shoulder, in the middle of the living room, is the very reason Noah fled here to begin with.

He might have forgotten but now it’s back.

Christopher.

Noah gasps in air and steps away. His back hits the railing. If he had momentum behind him, he would have tipped over. One hand flies up and grips it. Shaking, rattling, Noah feels it in his teeth.

Shaun’s brow furrows and he’s definitely about to ask what’s wrong but Noah can’t explain it. He won’t explain it, no matter how odd he’s sure he looks.

“I have to go,” Noah beats him to the punch and then bolts down the stairs. He takes two at a time. He’s sure Christopher is already following him.

He’s no longer safe anywhere.

If Kiki’s apartment is vulnerable, everywhere is.

Noah could skip town, move across the world, and he can still picture the priest waiting for him.

He nearly fumbles the car keys when he pulls them from his pocket but he catches them with his free hand. Every few seconds he looks up, at the apartment building, but he sees no pursuer. That doesn’t slow him much or offer any real comfort.

Just because he’s not seeing him doesn’t mean he’s not there.

Noah slides into the car and promptly starts the ignition. He tears out of the parking lot, ready to speed back to the house even though that’s where he’s originally come from. The kids are probably still there, confused, so he keeps them in mind as he puts more pressure on the gas.

The scenery blurs past him. He’s in a wormhole. He’s traveled through time. The clock on the dash is all eights and the radio hisses with a strange frequency.

But he’s also winding through the old downtown area. He wants to discover a new way to the house, one that doesn’t take him past the church. Even if he knows it’s impossible, he still tries. He has to.

“There is nothing you can do to escape your destiny.”

Noah doesn’t even look over. Christopher is in the car, right next to him. He’s probably been there all along.

“Get out of here,” he responds, eyes laser focused on the road. There’s no traffic.

“I can’t. Not until you fulfill your purpose.” Christopher sounds even closer. His presence encroaches around Noah. He is smoke and all the windows are sealed shut. Noah has no choice but to breathe him in. “You are almost complete, yes? You are only missing one thing.”

 An icy hand, large and thin, slaps down on Noah’s thigh. It squeezes, tightening as it goes, and the fingers grace along the inner seam of his pants. They are only leading to one spot, with no sign of slowing.

So, Noah stops. And he stops hard.

Christopher isn’t buckled in so the sudden, sharp brake sends him forward. His head hits the windshield first and his body follows after. Everything in front of Noah shatters and his eyes finally drift to the priest who is, now, out of his car.

His body is slumped in the middle of the road and blood begins to pool around it.

Only one other soul is around as witness. Some old woman, sweeping outside of her shop. She stops to stare, lips pressed firm, and she shields her eyes from the sun with one of her hands. Her vision must be terrible because she carries on sweeping right after.

Noah, for the first time in his life, can’t wait to get back to the house.

All the lights look like they’re off and it’s later than it should be. Noah thought he went to Kiki’s at around noon but the sun is setting. It’s rays, weak as they are, still shine through the tree branches around the house. A flock of birds fly overhead.

He hurries inside, not bothering to take light steps now, he doesn’t care who he disturbs with his stomping or key jangling. He locks the handle and deadbolt and then leans against the door. His stress catches up to him and he feels like vomiting.

His churning stomach doesn’t subside but he walks away, pocketing his keys and looking around. There’s no sound coming from further in, like there usually is, and he hasn’t seen any movement either. It’s quite possible that both kids are just in their rooms, keeping to themselves, but there is no creaking over his head. Even small steps or movements make some sort of sound.

Noah climbs the stairs, unsure now.

He’s not been the kind of guardian that checks in on the children every few minutes or constantly asks what they’re up to but, in this case, he can’t be sure how long he’s been gone. It’s a bit different, he thinks, as he approaches Erin’s room.

It’s the closest to the stairs and to the bathroom.

Noah raps his knuckles against the wood and waits. His breath is still loud, he’s not quite got that under control yet. He swallows, hard, and tries again. This time, he adds, “Erin?” Maybe she has her headphones in.

He leans in, listening, and that’s when he hears a sound mimicking him. A big, gasp of air. But, then, it shifts. A sob. From her core, Erin belts out a wail and it rattles Noah. He wonders a lot, at once, and the thoughts don’t go in any proper order.

Is this his doing? Does she hear him? What is she crying about?

For any of that to be answered, Noah has to go inside. He’s not a fan of doing so unannounced but she won’t speak to him otherwise.

He turns the handle and pushes. It’s the squeal of the hinges that finally gets her attention. Too late, Erin wipes her tears away and sniffles.

“What?” she asks, trying to make her voice sound flat and unaffected.

Noah can’t get around it so he walks in and asks directly, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Erin, obviously, lies. She wipes her eyes again and, this time, it smears her makeup.

“If there’s something I can do, just tell me.” Noah hopes offering help will open her up some. Otherwise, he’s not sure what his best move is. He’s got his customer service playbook and, outside of that, there isn’t much else.

His niece shakes her head back and forth. “I’m fine. It’s stupid.”

“I won’t think it’s stupid if you tell me.”

Her eyes narrow, for a second, but then she wipes under her nose. She sniffles again and, afterward, she attempts to smooth her hair down. It isn’t, especially, out of sorts but it’s clear she’s been rolling around on her bed and crying for some time.

“I’m just, I guess, thinking about mom and dad.” Erin throws her hands up. “It’s like…I’m the only one that cares. Everyone just sees it as some freak accident but I actually, I dunno, feel sad? But not even all the time. Sometimes I don’t even think about it.”

“That’s normal.” He thinks so, anyway. “I lost my parents a while ago but it was complicated. I was numb some days. Sad others. And I didn’t even get along with them.”

Erin frowns and a new wave of tears come, no matter how much she tries to stop them. They roll down her cheeks and her skin reddens. “I didn’t get along with them either.”

It’s the first Noah has heard of the actual relationship between the kids and their parents. Since they’ve avoided the topic, altogether, he’s only had outsiders’ views to go off of. And, from the neighbors’ perspective, everything was peachy.

“I hated mom sometimes,” Erin continues, sobbing now. Her shoulders shake and her hair falls forward. A few strands stick to her tears. She has to really comb her fingers through her hair to get it to behave. “And now it’s like…maybe if I didn’t hate her and dad then they’d still be here. Or, I should have appreciated them more! It’s not like I’ll get another mom and dad but I just wasted them. I…God says to honor thy mother and father and I didn’t, so maybe this is my punishment. Maybe I’m really responsible for their deaths...”

“You’re not,” Noah doesn’t skip a beat. “You didn’t cause them to die because you hated them sometimes. If God punished children for that then many more people would be orphaned, don’t you think?”

She smears more of her makeup by wiping her whole palms against her eyes. Black streaks line her skin. “Well, sure but…!”

Noah can’t even remember the last time he had to console someone. It was probably a customer, upset over some change or recall in their favorite product. While it isn’t even comparable, Noah leans on that experience and he claps a hand over his niece’s shoulder.

“All you can do is cry until it’s all out. You’ll probably feel better.”

She doesn’t need the permission and just sobs from the bottom of her heart. She holds herself but Noah isn’t comfortable enough to attempt a hug. It’s unlikely she really wants one anyway. At least not from him.

As she blubbers, she vents out some more of her frustrations. Most have to do with her parents but, occasionally, Bryce slips in too.

“He doesn’t even understand that they’re dead. I don’t think so anyway or, if he does, he just doesn’t care. Every day he just plays his stupid games and I haven’t seen him cry over it once! Not even when it first happened and I sobbed for like an hour! He just sat there and picked at his nails!”

“Everyone handles things differently,” Noah came to his nephew’s defense. He was quite the same himself, when it came to handling heavy emotions. He tended not to or, at the very least, he responded in ways that didn’t correlate.

He could still recall getting angry over a classmate’s dead father.

They got to skip out on class for a month and their dad was out of their life. Noah thought they were so unbelievably lucky and he resented the fact he had a sign a card with his “sympathies” along with the rest of the class. He wasn’t sorry, he was furious but he couldn’t quite comprehend why.

It took another decade and a half for him to realize the cause of the misdirected rage and, far too late, the guilt and sorrow came.

“I get that,” Erin’s voice breaks him from his minor flashback. She rubs her hand under her nose and then sniffs. “But Bryce is too laid back, like he’s content or something. Or, I dunno, maybe he’s just so lost he can’t care about anything but himself.”

That word, in particular, makes Noah’s hand on her shoulder tense. He nearly lets go. “…What do you mean he’s lost?”

Erin shakes her head and then clicks her tongue, a flavor of irritation seeping in. “It’s stupid. He can’t think for himself. It’s like I’ll never see my brother again.”

Noah does take his hand off now. He circles around to face her. “What happened to Bryce? Where is he?”

“Who knows,” his niece says, letting out a long exhale. “Long gone, probably.”